Monday, April 5, 2010


Live like a dog , die like a dog

This is my memoir: - a bloody hardcore street-dog. Yes we dogs too have a memoir. I would like to thank the owner of this blog , a good friend whom I have chased a hell lot of times, for giving me this opportunity to write my painful story. Sorry I don’t have the time or space to write my painful story as told by the owner of the blog by throwing a stone on my face. Later in this post I would refer to him as just the “OWNER” Hence you as great readers have missed the chance of witnessing some of the tragic stories of all time. What an idiot this OWNER is? Still I would like to share with you my daily routine.
Sorry for the language we dogs don’t care much about that stuff. It is hard to bark in your mind and then write on MS office.

I get up early as 10 a.m. After a hell lot of chasing, the dog’s tired. He needs his sleep. Hence the first thing I do after getting up is pick-up fights with the nice homely dogs that they call “Thorough bred”. These are the dogs usually accompanied by oldies, and cute girlies. Both of whom cannot control a dog, who does nothing but walks on earth like he has never seen land, garbage and dirt before. Boy I live for that shit. These specially taken care or “Trained” dogs (sarcasm intended) move around like a misguided missile without a sense of direction here and there smelling everything from trees to plants to puddle (oh what immature little dogs). I don’t blame them they are so well kept and well-fed that they really have never stepped outside in the sun.

Among these trained dogs are also categories. The first is the Pomerian: the white furry little devil. I don’t why this species has been classified under dogs. Cause you know man I think this a cat with a lot of bloody fur on. Scared as hell he walks as if he just seen Scooby Doo. I have a large gang man. ME with other filthy dogs really scare the little man, he justs hopes that he dies soon enough.
Then the second to come is the German Shepherd. A hunter’s dog they say. But no match for us road-dogs. We are the scrappiest of them all. You might be pure breed but we are the strong breed. He might be lion at home but on the streets you better watch your paw, else you gonna see what the saying “Fight in the dog means”.
Then there are other undogly dogs who put us hard steelers to shame. They think that they real smart, but what do they know that in the street it is the street smart that wins.

Come noon and its time for the dogs nap. He hates it when some damn kid throws pebbles at the dog, when he is asleep. IT really pisses the lamp-post outta me. And yeah one warning to you readers don’t mess with the dog’s tail, its sort of a sympbol of pride for us dogs, you mess with it we mess with you. You don’t mess with it still we mess with you. Coz after all we dogs have our way.

Then comes the night, the most exciting time of ma day. I chase cars, chase bikes, chase men, chase everyone. I become Bond of Quantum of Solace. You got that real smart quip. Cars are the most favourite, that one time I chased an SUV, the driver got so scared that he hit a tree. Later the cops found out that there was cocaine stashed in the hood. Ma’s happiest day of life. Done something for the country. Sent application for the president’s medal , was rejected , Bloody beauracrats. Then at late midnight the real stuff begins. We at gang war with rival gangs over territory. We don’t want any dog to get into our territory and eat our food, drink our water, get dirty in our mud, chase our cars, chase our bikes. Got that really pisses the man off!!.

WE like crocs really territorial. Occassionally we do get cats in our territory but only with the permission of the man. See we dogs do have hearts. And lastly the OWNER is now really mad at the man he is comin with a stick so gotta go, if I get time I will publish ma book and may even win the Poker Prize or is it the Booker Prize. Anyways gotta go.

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