That's right. I'm talking to you, you flea-ridden magnet. I know you often drool, kick your legs up in your sleep while chasing toads in your sleep, and you're never satisfied with what's given to you. You have an insatiable appetite for more, and you always like to gorge yourself on the trash that's left out. Then we have to take you to be checked out to make sure you're okay, and didn't eat anything bad.
And god, why do you always have this need to be petted? It's almost like you crave attention, just like David Sirota, Arianna Huffington, Jane Hamsher, Cenk Ugyur, Rachel Maddow, Keith Olbermann, and all those nasty little professional leftists.
You certainly like to get into the dirt, and one time, you were digging behind the bushes for more of that dirt you crave, and you found a dead squirrel. You rolled happily over that dead carcass, which stank to high heaven. Then we had to take you home, and give you a bath. We had to pick you up and put you directly into the bathtub. You really do hate being given baths, but that's what happens when you roll over a dead squirrel.
That was a consequence of your action, but you don't seem to realize it. You keep on pissing the lawn, which leaves brown spots everywhere. Can't you piss somewhere else, like a toilet? We've tried to toilet-train you, but your hind end always falls off the toilet, and you switch position to drink directly out of the toilet instead.
In the morning, I've woken up to hear you lapping out of the toilet bowl with utter glee. Eww. And then you come to my side of the bed, thump the mattress with your paws, and lick my face with your germy tongue. You don't seem to care about passing germs to me, and you revel in your happiness of having woken me up so I can take you out in 40-degree weather to piss on the spotted lawn. So, pissing on the lawn is working out for you very well :-) Better that than in our place, you flea-ridden magnet.
It's kind of funny that you're supposed to be a cattle dog mix, because you are scared shitless of the cows next door at the farm. You see them right by the fence, and you go utterly berserk. You actually ran to hide behind me, and barked from behind my legs. I don't get how you get so courageous when you're with other dogs, running up to them, and wanting to play with them, and you act like a scaredy-cat with cows next door. They're just giant moo dogs, Bella.
And you're always up in everyone's business at the park, you like going to people that dangle their legs in the water, and sniff at their beer cans. You also like to sniff other dogs' butts to see what they're all about. You certainly don't see me sniffing other peoples' butts, so I don't understand why you have to do this constantly whenever you see another dog.
You're crazy, full of yourself, don't give a damn about how you smell, and we love you, Bella.
Even though you piss on the lawn.