Rabid Times!


Hogan Here!

Hate to admit it but I'm lying in a bunker.  I made it myself!  Yep. I am between a wall and a huge, heavy desk.  And, I am not coming out until everybody has calmed down! It is too bad that the world has come to this.  But, between celebrities and news commentors, there is no other safe place. 
In other words, the country has gone rabid and I don't want to be bitten.  Since Donald and I are kin....... Well, just look at our mug shots!  We are kin, right?
Kin means that I am obligated to stand and defend Donald. That is kind of hard to do in a bunker! 

YOU CAN'T DENY IT!

Well, maybe not.  Let me put this into prospective.  Both the news media and the entertainment industry seem kin to wild dogs.  Kin is kin!  All I need to do is call Animal Control.  Easy enough!  As an extra measure, I will let Donald know that the knee hole of the desk next to me is vacant. That way, I can keep an eye on him.  Not easy enough!    

Swimming!

Hogan Here!

I don’t like water!  I am supposed to be a water dog, but I was born with land legs and lead weights.  Wouldn’t you know that it was my trainer who picked up my land legs and walked them into our pool. And I was on top of those legs! Where was I to go?

My Dad was in the pool waiting for me as my trainer held me above the water.  Mom sat far away and looked horrified.  The only water Mom doesn’t have a fear of is from the faucet!  Her fears sure didn’t help me one bit. 

I knew that I had to feel the fear and swim but I kept my head up against every human shoulder that I could find. My heart was beating twice as fast.  My back legs floated lifelessly, my front legs wouldn't bend, and, all the while, I was turning the color of seaweed.

HOPING FOR THE SPCA

Two men came by playing golf.  One looked at me in the pool and then shouted to Mom: “Swimming lessons?”  Mom smiled and nodded her head.  The man, then, said: “For a dog!”  Mom said:  Yes, why not?” 

“For a dog?”  Why did that man think that I was less than a people? The  adrenalin flowed!

I started for the edge of the pool.  I swam and ran up the steps.  Oh, if I could just have eaten that man’s balls!  But, he took his fat self and his clubs and his balls to the green and far away from me. 

But, I learned to swim.  I forgot the fear and found the steps.

WATERLOGGED PRIDE

Now there is only one problem.  I have to be insulted again before its worth another swim. I am not a water dog.  But, I am a great sprinter, a great runner, a great dog, and a great sort-of-people.

Oh, did I leave a word out of this text?  Should I have written golf balls rather than balls?  Oh well.  Balls are balls to a Golden Retriever.  Why should I qualify?  I am Hogan.

                                  

Obedience With A Presidential Twist!

Hogan Here!

As I've said, Trump is a Golden just like me.  Just look at his head shot.

An issue in this new presidency is my birth duty.   As a Golden I must coach Donald in the way Golden's coach each other.  This obligation is true of other Golden's as well.  Since Golden's are a tighter group than the Masonic Lodge, there is no getting out of this one.

According to consensus, my first coaching duty is Golden obedience training.  Golden obedience training is extremely useful in public appearances and it is unique unto itself

Here is a thumbnail sketch of the lowest level of training; basic obedience.   I've also added  my concerns.

Donald has to learn "the walk".  The head must be pointed forward, the stride must be even, and the tail must be held high.  This may be awkward for Donald, at first.  He is not accustomed to tail work.

Barking is not a preferred event in the obedience world.  Nor is biting.  Donald will have to swallow both his bite and his bark in public appearances.  But, he is allowed to shake hands on command.  One thought here! Donald has to be careful not to shake hands too often or it will look like pawing and pawing in public is not acceptable.

The sit-and-stay command is handy for it allows momentary rest in a hectic public moment.  However, this command may need revision or possibly be scrapped for, you see, if Donald did "sit and stay" so would the Secret Service.  How would the Press react with everyone hitting the ground?  They would report it and be accused of sensationalizing.  Yep,  better scrap this move.

DID YOU READ THAT LAST TWEET!

Then, there is the "leave it" command.  Whenever Donald speaks his mind, the command of "leave it" would be just that"  Leave it (alone).  Donald would have a lot less to twitter about if there were less encounters on his public walk.  I have a gut feeling that this will be a tough command to teach.

And, you can bet that I am not teaching the " lie down" command.  Donald would never go for that!

I know that I am going to grow close to Donald, as Golden's do with companions.  The only worry that I have is the possible shortening of my life span.  Stress, you know.

A DONALD MOMENT

       

CATastrophic!

Hogan Here!

Today, I decided to be a cat.  Why not?  I have a couple of cat friends in the neighborhood. So, acting like a cat seemed to be a great idea. 

Catting started with the obvious chase and catch.  Supplies weren't a problem.  There is always a field rat in the backyard.  This is Texas.  No, I am not talking politics!  I am talking about a field rat.  

Anyway, I grabbed a rat from the backyard and ran it to the back door.  I wasn't satisfied with only this move.  I decided to scratch on the door.  Believe me, I looked "cat successful".  When the door finally opened, I made certain that the rat was visible.  Good idea?  No.  Bad idea!  

Well, while I don't know much about cats, I do know that when something is in a dog's mouth, it is never a good idea to scream at the poor dog. My gentle mouth of a retriever turned into a vise and made two rats out of one poor rat.  That wasn't my plan! 

Trying to recover from my mistake, I decided to sit down by the carnage to show the pride of a catch.  A cat gets away with this move.  Not true for me. 

But, the back door did open. Yep, a hand reached out from the inside and dragged my "ratless" self into the house.  Nobody wanted to touch me as my cold nose was pushed away.  And, I was forced to eat a bunch of tasteless scraps to, supposedly, clean out my mouth.  Nope, it just wasn't a friendly moment.  

I still have no idea what it is like to be a cat.  But, I don't want to find out.  If "catting" is this hard for the canine, it must be h-e-l------for the feline!  I guess life is worse for a rat.  I feel really sorry for that rat.

GOT TO THINK OF ANOTHER IDEA