Firstly, I don't get any damned sleep anymore. When he finishes playing those FUCKING Steely Dan records at three in the morning, he emerges in the bedroom - where I'm usually comfortably asleep on my mat - and the fucker picks me up, drops me on his bed, and climbs in next to me. Then, he expects me to sleep while he 'lovingly' scratches me behind the ears. I usually wait until the dumb lummox has fallen asleep - which I can tell because the sweet, sweet drool starts flowing out of his mouth and all over the pillow, and he starts snoring like a fucking combine harvester - and then, on PURPOSE, I drop my guts, leaving him with the stinky nightmare of my bowel, and then I return to the mat and go to sleep. Haa. Fuck him.

Then, I'm waken up by The Old Female - who wraps a chain around my throat and drags me out for 'walkies' at 7 in the fucking morning. Do you know what it's like having to wander the streets of Shitsville McNowhere with a menopausal harridan at the crack of dawn? It's no fucking fun, I can assure you - especially when the stupid slag tries to stop me from having any semblance of a social life. I hear the sound of some hot stud barking at me to come over so that he can mount me, and I go to run to him - and what does she do? She screams 'HEEL!' and pulls me into line so that I have to keep walking with her. It's like... FUCK! We all need exercise and shit, but for fuck's sake - I want to get laid. How am I ever gonna have an orgasm if every time I meet some stud who wants my shit, I have one of these stupid 'owners' getting in the way?

Eventually, she lets me off the leash when we got home - and I immediately go back to sleep, because fuck staying awake for a joke. Staying awake for what? Have you seen morning T.V lately? Like I can be bothered seeing what Moira is gonna pimp to me. I don't even have any money. Shit, I can't even use the phone. Ever tried ringing Demtel when your hands are nothing but a pair of hairy, blunt clubs? It is an exercise in disaster, I can assure you.

Then, The Fat One emerges from his boudoir. I know when that's happening because the smell carries through the house. Good god - I wish I could DESCRIBE the smell to you. It's a mixture of stale sweat, drying saliva, bowel gas - both dog and human - and the foul reek of reproductive fluids. My GOD, but that boy interferes with himself a lot. He thinks that I'm just lying there staring at nothing, but every night - for hours - I have to sit there and listen to the 'fap, fap, fap', and his grunting and groaning. It's completely disgusting. And they wonder why I used to take a dump on the bedroom floor in the middle of the night - frankly, that was preferable to watching The Fat One having one off the wrist for the millionth time that evening.

So, Fatso gets up and wraps his chapped, drooling lips around a cup of coffee. After a while, he has a shower - which alleviates the stench for at least a few minutes - before he emerges and sits down to 'work'. That's what he tells people - if you know him, and you're reading this, you've no doubt heard the lecture about 'Oh, people say I don't work - but I work really hard! It's not MY fault that I'm stuck here! I'm doing the best I can!'

Wah, wah, wah.

Fatso sits around in his moccasins writing whatever bullshit it is that he's decided is going to make him rich this month, occasionally disappearing back into his bedroom. Fap-fap-fapping sounds ensue. I go outside and vomit in the bushes.

Then, at around 1:30 or so, The Depression Starts. This is when I really wish I was dead. Fatso starts moping, and wandering around the house in a daze - he makes endless cups of coffee and starts playing those fucking bullshit Van Halen records in an effort to cheer himself up - but, it never works because he's a whiny cocksucker. You have no idea how sick I am of having to listen to Van Halen. Do you know what it's like to have to hear 'Fair Warning' every... single... fucking... day? I would ring the RSPCA and report him, but - again - I have that problem with my hands.

Somewhere around four, Fatso starts 'working' again - which involves him sitting in an armchair and tapping at a laptop until The Old Woman shows up. Then, I have to listen to him whinge and whine and whimper at her about how he's 'lost' and 'confused' and 'desperate to know what to do', and blah, blah, blah. I've heard it all before, and so's she - so, she usually just tells him to shut the fuck up and cool it. I don't think there's a sentient human alive who can handle that level of whimpering - and this entire house is at breaking point. I'm surprised that The Bald One hasn't taken him outside and stabbed him with a screwdriver yet. I really wish he would.

Then, they eat whatever slop they've assembled for dinner - and, of course, I am offered none, so I crawl under the table and let go of as much anal gas as I possibly can.

Phhhhhhhhhhrt! Take that, fuckers!

Of course, this has led to the brilliant decision that I 'eat too much red meat', so my choices for eating non-repulsive food have slowly dwindled, leaving me with nothing much besides the filthy dog sausage and repugnant Good-O's that they try to shove down my poor, long-suffering gullet. Bastards.

The Bald One usually plays about 900 games of Solitaire on his computer, while Fatso disappears into the lounge room and proceeds to simultaneously watch one of the stupid, asinine DVD's that he's bought - while playing Commodore 64 games on his laptop. Fuck me. It's like... grow up. This isn't 1985, dicknose.

The old ones go to bed, thankfully, and Fatso sits up all night whining, watching shit, occasionally writing his stupid garbage, and fap-fap-fapping the night away. When I can take no more of the sight of his lard arse perched in an armchair looking gripped by complete and total self-pity, I flee to the bedroom and crash out on my mat.

Repeat... every day. For the rest of my life.

If anyone wants to pay the RSPCA to have me put down, email me. Sometimes, I think I'd have been better off being sent to the Showers With No Water. I was thanking the lord that I was saved by this family of grinning shitbags - but I should have been cursing him. I'd give anything to be back on death row now.

I'm sure there's a few of you out there who are, almost incredibly, unfamiliar with who I am, and why you should be reading. It is for this reason that I've put together a handy guide to my life, my loves, and my world. Something for you to refer back to - and perhaps, even to compare your own lives to in order to somehow validate who you are, and where it is that you fail.

NAME: Bronnie The Dog.
ALIASES: Bronswala, Bronsoir, Brondandos.
AGE: Two.
PLACE OF BIRTH: Somewhere in Melbourne.
MARITAL STATUS: Single, but looking.
CHILDREN: Unfortunately, I was made barren by my captors.
OCCUPATION: Dog/performance artist.
EDUCATION HISTORY: B.A, Latrobe University. M.A, Deakin.

LIKES -

Movie :

Blade Runner - 'As visually exciting as it is narratively rich.'
Koyannisqatsi - 'The only film that has ever truly mattered.'
Freddie Got Fingered - 'I SAY GENEVA, AND YOU SAY HELSINKI???'
Stripes - 'Contains my personal philosophy, as spoken by the immortal Francis Sawyer. "Any of you homos TOUCHES me... and I'll KILL ya."
Saturday Night Fever - 'An immortal classic.'
Un Chien Andalou - 'Bunuellian madness, that still makes me weep.'

Music :

I'm a great admirer of recorded sound. Here's a shortlist.

Script For A Jester's Tear - Marillion.

- 'Heartbreaking.'

Greatest Hits - Jennifer Warnes

- 'Soulful, with enough country grit to make me long for a man I never knew.'

The Church Of Hawkwind - Hawkwind.

- 'The star cannibal WILL rise again!'

Diamond Dogs - David Bowie.

- 'I like to think of myself as the original diamond dog.'

The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway - Genesis.

- 'No idea what it's about. I like the bit where Peter Gabriel is having sex with the half-snake woman who is eating him alive, though.'

Women And Children First - Van Halen.

- 'Never liked Van Halen until I lived here. More as a matter of convienience, since it's all I ever hear. Still, this is the album with the line that encapsulates my current lifestyle: 'Oh, it makes me move. Oh, I live with fools.'

Food :

Tinned beef and mushrooms by the Harvest food company of Echuca, Victoria.

- 'Sublime.'

My Grandma's roast beef.

- 'Cos my Grandma makes it.'

Toast.

- 'I like toast 'cos it's quick to make and quicker to eat.'

V.I.P Dog Food Rolls.

- 'Understated, yet exciting flavours. A lot of people have said a lot of unkind things about dog food over the years, but the V.I.P range provide the nutrition that I need, while tickling my palate with a smorgasboard of sensitive, gentle tastes.'

The Fecal Matter I Find On Nature Strips.

- 'I keep getting in trouble for eating dog shit that I find littering the streets. There seems to be a brewing school of modern thought which suggests that there is something unhealthy about it - to those critics, I say.. 'What do you think dog crap is? Dog food that's already been digested and excreted. I have a busy life, and if someone else is willing to do the digestion for me, it would be the height of rudeness to refuse them.' An earthy taste, counterbalanced by a strong aroma which is, possibly, the very definition of 'suited only to the discerning palate'.'

Cheese twisties.

- 'Delicious.'

My Own Genitals.

- 'Putting the SENSATION in 'taste sensation'.'

Television:

The Norman Gunston Show.

- 'Criminally underrated.'

Man About The House.

- 'Criminally overrated.'

Australian Idol.

- 'Criminal.'

Enough Rope.

- 'I used to think Denton was just a shortarsed little nerd who had no right making fun of Led Zeppelin. Now, I think he's just a shortarsed little nerd who is the best interviewer in the world.'

The Howard Stern E! Show.

- 'More than meets the eye.'

And.. :

Our garden - 'There's something to be said for rolling around in grass, and then falling asleep on a steaming pile of manure.'

Small objects that roll - 'Except when I knock them under the couch, and I have to get the fat one to retrieve them.'

My Amstrad CPC6128 - 'Sorcery still gets my juices flowing.'

'Well-hung dogs, sugar-coated human hands, when I manage to catch a bird and bite it's head off, my cushion, my toys, my blanket, and most of all, myself.'

DISLIKES :

Conservatism - 'Don't you ever get between a dog and her porn.'

The Liberal Party - 'Because of their diabolical politics.'

Alice Cooper - 'Because of his diabolical politics.'

Running out of hairspray - 'Truly abominable.'

When I find a chunk of something in my dinner and nobody seems to know what it is - 'Mysterious.'

MY BURNING AMBITION...

...is to spend my life among you, walking the thin line between adulation and suffocation.

I've been away for a while. But now - I've returned. Expect more updates shortly.

Anyway, I'll get straight to the point. I'm getting a bit worried about David. He's acting incredibly strangely. He's a freak at the best of times - but as of late, he's got me a little rattled. He gets up, stomps around the house, checks the mail over and over again in case a job offer has shown up, talks to himself - and me - about what he's going to do. Actually, it's more like 'Bronnie, what the hell am I gonna do?'. Then he gets all upset, gets morose, and just sort of sits there looking catatonic and bizarre. Actually, there was one other time I saw him like this - when his supervisor was being so awful to him, and he was trying to find a new one. Except, that time he would just sit there and catatonically stare at things while listening to Melanie's 'Arabesque' album. Well, the first track, anyway. 'Detroit Or Buffalo'. Over, and over, and over again. Or, he listens to her version of 'I Think It's Gonna Rain Today', and just sits around staring out of the windows. I'm not sure whether he's a pretentious, self-pitying idiot, or if I should be genuinely concerned.

I mean, we all get it. He can't find a job. Yeah, yeah. We get the idea.

Are we being too flippant? Or is he being self-indulgent? Or is it both?

The weird thing is that he has a few days where he's back to normal - but then it all gets weird again.

Then there's his writing on Metal City. What a freak. I read that shit he wrote tonight. Talk about your mind rot. If I read that, and I didn't know him, I'd change the locks on my house just in case, if you know what I mean.

I don't think he'd ever seriously hurt anybody. He's too much of a big wussy sissy boy. It's just him letting off steam. In a pretentious way. The gormless sissy.

People tell him to Do Stuff - but I'm kind of on his side on this one. It's not quite that simple. I remember, many years ago, I was laid off. Not many people know this, but at one point, I worked for an advertising firm in Australia. Remember the Uncle Toby's ads with that little kid saying 'It's NO' how ye make porridge!'? You can blame me for those. Anyway, shortly after we'd started terrorizing the country with that campaign of drivel, the boss comes into my office.

"Bronnie," he says, grinning, "Hey, babe."

I nodded. "Hey, yourself.", I muttered, lining up a putt.

"Bronnie.", he sighed. "We have to talk."

I threw up a hand, then replaced it wordlessly on the shaft of the putter.

"Tobias, if there's one thing you should know about the executive lifestyle, it's that you shouldn't get between a girl and... her..."

I tapped the ball lightly, swinging the head of the putter through the cold, white orb. It clattered into the cup.

"Putting.", I finished, breaking into a smile and leaning the putter against the window. I picked up a Tab and poured it into a small glass, adding a couple of dissolvable asprins. I poured them into my mouth, gargled them, and spat them into the bin.

"No liquids.", I said, patting my waistline with a paw. "New diet."

Tobias smiled and nodded.

"So, what's up? Is this a social call, or have you just come here to stand underneath the glass ceiling with me?"

I laughed, and mock-punched him on the shoulder.

"Actually, Bron - there is something I need to talk to you about..."

I was doing star-jumps. "Go on. I'm just gonna do my cardio work."

"This is very hard for me, Bronnie. You've been an exceedingly loyal member of the company, and your ideas have been exemplary. The Uncle Toby's campaign is a masterstroke."

I saluted him, and started jogging around my desk.

"Go on.", I said in between puffs.

"It's just that... well -", he sighed. "You're fired."

I stopped. I was facing the window, the panorama of Melbourne spread out before me, illuminated by the blazing sun, which hung overhead like some kind of perfect jewel, radiant and proud.

I turned on my hind legs. "Fired?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

Walking to my desk, I flopped down in my chair.

"Is this because... I'm a dog?"

He shook his head. "No, no. Absolutely not. No, this has nothing to do with that at all. You should know that we don't take race, gender, or species into account when hiring." He paused. "I'm a little offended that you had to ask."

I shrugged. "Well, I had to. I'm sorry."

He rubbed his chin, slowly building to a nervous scratching of his face.

"Bronnie, it's just business. You know? The men in grey - they just don't think you're.."

"Save it.", I whispered coldly, staring through the windows of my corner office. The Rialto stood in front of me, resplentant in it's phallic idolatry, ejaculating forth from the earth, and inseminating the sky with brilliant blue glass. I squirmed in my chair momentarily, and pulled my collar away from my neck, which suddenly felt hot and swollen. "Just save it. The fact is, you're getting rid of me. Just like that."

He wiped his eyes with a crinkled tissue he produced from his pocket. "I'm afraid so."

Walking around the desk, he reached down to scratch me behind the ears. "Don't.", I hissed. "Don't you touch me."

I rose. "If I'm going to leave... I'm going to leave with dignity. I'll send someone up here for my things."

And, with that, I pushed the door open. The secretaries, marketing staff, and administrative people were all staring at my door, wondering what would happen.

I knew I had to give them a show. I raised my arms in the air, and stood up on my hind legs.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," I cried, "It has been an honour. But now... I must bid you... adieu."

And with that, I strode defiantly... confidentally from the office - headed for an uncertain future. As I walked, the entire office erupted into applause and cheering. For me. As the elevator doors shut behind me, the sight of all of those wonderful people on their feet clapping for me, I was just glad that they didn't get to see me burst into tears, overcome by the emotion of the moment, and the promise that my future held.

Or did it?

I started to drink. I felt washed up. Old before my time. Once, I was in charge of million-dollar accounts. And now? I couldn't even afford my own tree to urinate against. I couldn't buy my own squishy bones.

I felt alone. Nobody understood. The days went on and on, blending seamlessly into one another, like melted fat. I watched the television, slept endlessly, and cried myself to sleep every night. I would lie on my mat, and hold the one thing that was left. The one thing that was mine.

My putter.

And when they took that from me, the pain was indescribable. I thought my heart would burst, shattering into a billion fragments.

But it didn't.

I moved on. I rebuilt. Obviously, the scope of the story is longer than this post is capable of, but it wasn't the end of the world. Even if it seems like it at the time. And what people don't realise, or forget about, or don't care about - is that it really, really does seem like it at the time.

So, I am worried about David. I do know what he's going through, even if he thinks my entire life is eating, sleeping, and waking him up. I do that on purpose. If I don't wake him up, he'll sleep the day away. And then he'll feel twice as bad.

I hope he cheers up. Or finds a job. Whichever comes first.

Oh, and by the way - I don't watch cooking shows. We may not share similar tastes in many things, but film definately is one of them. If I don't see a head explode, I feel robbed.

Email me, and let me know what I should do about the miserable old bastard.

As I was led into the Large One's house (Larger than the 'owner', that is), I heard her. I smelled her. Her mocking laughter reverberated off the walls and floors of the house, as she stampeded towards me, sliding across the polished boards, her nails digging in with a ringing shriek. We circled one another.

"Bronnie.", she replied coldly.

"You're looking well.", I said. "Your coat is so shaggy. And look at your hind quarters! You're really going for a natural look AND smell, aren't you?"

I smirked, and she drew her lips back for a moment, then composed herself.

"And you, Bronnie - it's always nice to see you again.", she snarled through gritted teeth. "I don't mean to be rude, but those crusty rings around your eyes are looking especially clotted today. You might want to get The Dork to look at those for you."

"His name," I growled, "Is David."

"Oh, is it?", she scoffed. "I'm sorry. I guess I've never seen enough personality coming from him to warrant remembering his name. I just refer to him as The Dork, or Fat Bastard."

I took a step forward. Nobody talks that way about the Owner. Except for me. That fat bastard.

"Bitch, you'd better watch what you -"

She peered over her shoulder at me, and I felt something warm and wet on my paws. My nostrils flexed open as an ammonia-like waft floated up at me from the floor.

She was urinating. A seemingly endless stream - it flowed from her in a long, amber stream, and her mouth was bowed upwards in a humourless rictus.

"Oh, Bronnie. I'm sorry. It's just that your, uh - well... it's your smell, dear. I'm finding it a little uncomfortable and, frankly, my own urine smells better than you."

That bitch. I could take her smart mouth, but I can't stand my flaxen fur being yellowed by her urine. That's just taking it all too far.

I lunged, seizing the scrawny beast by her vile throat. As I felt my fangs sinking in the sinewy, stretched skin of her neck, she gargled and sputtered, her breath cut off, and her eyes - once piggy and glassy - now bulged outward, urine dripping from her tail, which danced spasmodically beneath her.

"Still think you're funny?", I howled through a mouthful of fur, "Now who's funny, bitch?"

The Owners moved quickly. Piggy smirked and cheered me on, pushing his glasses up his nose and spilling a handful of potato chips onto the floor. The small one, the girlchild of the group, rocketed forward with alarm, and prized my jaws from the Bitch's mouth, and then held me in place.

But she wouldn't. I was dragged away - howling and kicking my legs, as Penny smirked at me when nobody was looking, and attempted to look sad and pained when they were. She is a knave and a charlatan - and from this deception onwards, the night slipped further into insanity.

I was chastised harshly by the Big Haired One, who told me to behave myself, and that I would sit in the car if I attempted to brutalize The Bitch again. Grudgingly, I accepted her terms - but I was very much aware of the problem of The Bitch, and I knew that if I was to act appropriately, I would be doomed. My cause would be immediately lost - consigned to a garbage bin marked "misbehaviour", and they would shackle me to their infernal machine.

So, later that night - while Penny slept atop The Old One's bed, I sat beneath her and attempetd to strike up some kind of civil conversation. She looked down at me with her squinty little weasel eyes:

"So. Penny. I just thought I'd come in here and apologise. You know - for before. I don't know what came over me. I've not been the same since the hysterectomy, and -"

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to... apologise?"

I nodded. "Sure. Sure, I guess so. I just thought that maybe we could -"

"Say... 'I'm sorry, Penny. It won't happen again.'"

I stared at her, and felt a fire beginning to scorch my belly, threatening to lick the insides of my chest, before wrapping itself around my paws and launching them at the Bitch's goblin-esque head.

"What do you mean?", I asked slowly.

She nailed me with a cool, brutal stare. "I said... say 'I'm sorry, Penny. It won't happen again."

I looked away. And as I felt my last few shreds of dignity being torn from my chest, I locked my jaws in place: "I'm sorry, Penny."

She smiled smugly. "It won't happen again.", she said. Then, sharply: "SAY IT."

I turned around and stared through the window. "It won't happen again."

The sky was a beautiful cobalt blue, as the evening began to slowly unroll across the horizon. I saw the smoke from the barbeque rising up and up and up - dissipating soundlessly in the atmosphere. I licked my lips, my mouth filling with saliva.

Penny stood behind me. "That's good, Bronnie. That's very good." She pushed me lightly with a paw. "Now - lick my paws clean."

I snarled. "You want me to -"

"Lick my paws clean. I'm not going to ask again."

This was simply too much. I felt my jaws lubricating, my heart pounding in my chest, and my claws retracting and extending rhythmically.

"I'm not licking your paws, bitch. Forget it."

She stepped backwards. Her lips pulled themselves backwards into a snarl. And then - suddenly - she toppled over on her side, and let out a howl.

"Oh! Oh, she hurt me! Bronnie's bitten me again! Help!", she screamed, thrashing her body around, biting her own arm - enough to draw blood - and smiling devilishly the whole time. I stepped back from her, shocked and disturbed.

"What are you -" I gasped, and tried to pull her paw from her mouth, but her teeth were buried firmly in her flesh. "Penny, stop that! You're -"

"Bronnie hit me! Bronnie hit me!", she wailed. "Ohhh, it hurts!"

I immediately decided to flee. This was too weird.

I sat out with Porky, as he flipped the sausages on the barbeque - proving that his destiny as an art graduate could yet be fulfilled. I smiled at him and panted, trying to look as innocent as possible - yet from inside, I heard the caterwauling.

"Bronnie hit me! Oh! Help!", rang out Penny's voice, as the footsteps came running.

"Oh, little dog! Are you alright? Are you - Bronnie!"

Porky turned around, as The Big Haired One stampeded through the flywire.

"Bronnie! You naughty dog. You bad, bad girl. You hurt Penny! You -"

I tried my best to appear confused. Porky looked down at me, and I batted my eyes at him. He lifted an eyebrow from behind his thick, window-esque glasses.

"What happened?", he asked.

"Bronnie hurt Penny!", The Big Haired One barked, then stabbed a bony finger at me. "Bad dog."

"Hey, hey. Are you sure?", he asked slowly, flipping a chicken, cheese, and garlic sausage with a long set of silver tongs.

"Of course I'm sure. Of course I am."

Porky shrugged. "She's been out here with me."

Penny appeared in the doorway, staring at both of us with a smile.

"The whole time.", he continued - the smile dropping from Penny's lips.

The Big Haired One turned, scowling. "Well," she muttered, "I guess someone must have accidentally stepped on Penny. Maybe it was Rebecca. Will that dinner be ready soon?"

"Soon.", he mumbled, turning his attentions back to the flipping of the onions. "Soon enough."

She disappeared. I looked up at Porky.

"Say, Dave.", I said. "Thanks for that. Seriously. I owe you."

I reared up on my hind legs and offered him a paw. He shook it.

"That's okay, Bron. That little bitch struck me as a liar from the first time I met her. What happened?"

I shrugged. "She just went apeshit. Started biting herself. I think she was trying to get me in trouble."

"Was she?", Porky said, pushing his glasses up his nose, and hiking his ill-fitting corduroy pants up, creating the impression of a bulge in his crotch which seemed to magically vanish if he took more than one step in any direction.

"Yep. She was."

"Well," he said wryly, "We'll have to do something about that, won't we?"

I sat with her, both of us staring at Porky and his Brood as they feasted upon the carcasses of swine, smacking their gums and licking their fingers, as they attempted to crack wise and be merry. I rolled my eyes at Porky's irritating repartee, but resisted the urge to say anything. He was, after all, formulating a plan.

"I'm getting those sausages.", Penny said firmly, her eyes locked onto the plates. "They're mine."

I smiled. "We'll see."

"We will, bitch. See that last chicken sausage? It's mine. I don't care if your fat bastard owner gives it to you - I'm having it. You'll hand it over. Got it?"

"We'll see.", I repeated - my tongue hanging out of the side of my mouth.

Penny turned to face me. "You really think you're hot shit, don't you? You think you're so special just because you're Japanese. You think you're exotic, or some shit. Let me tell you something, bitch - you're just another smell on a tree trunk to me. You don't matter. I don't let dogs get in between me and my sausages. I remove them." She paused, scratching behind her ear. "And I'll remove you."

I turned and locked eyes with her, shutting my mouth - my face a mask of seriousness.

"I dare you to try."

Was that fear I saw in her eyes? Just a flicker, dancing at the back of the endless sea of her pupil? Did she shudder?

"Bronnie! Penny!", Porky called out - a broad smirk on his face. We both sat at his feet, wagging our tails, and salivating madly.

He shoved a chicken sausage in my mouth, and a beef one in Penny's, and we both galloped away, headed for the back of the house. She was behind me, and I heard her gaining - her voice a low growl. We skidded across the floor and crashed into one another - the sausage falling from her mouth and rolling away, just as the same happened to mine, and it rolled under the piano.

Prior to the impact, I had bitten off a piece of sausage, and I held it in my mouth as Penny advanced slowly towards me.

"Don't even think about going and getting it, Bronnie.", she almost whispered. "It's mine."

I stared at her, chewing slowly.

"What did you think - that you could beat me?" She laughed, circling me slowly. "You thought that you could take me on and win?"

She shook her head. "You stupid.. stupid... bitch.", she spat, as her paw snaked out and caught me on the chin. I crashed backwards against the leg of the computer chair - but still kept that precious chunk of sausage in my mouth, breathing heavily through my nose.

She pushed her snout under the organ and retrieved my sausage, dropping it in front of her. And she collected hers - rolling it across the boards and pushing it parallel against mine.

"It's over, Bronnie.", she hissed. Then quietly. "It's over."

But then, it happened. I felt something expanding inside my mouth, and I spat out a mouthful of white, pasty foam. It landed on the floor - thick and viscious - and I barked.

More and more emerged from my mouth, thick foam which covered my teeth and lips. I spat it out, barking at Penny, who stared at me in disbelief. I snarled, and took a step forward, spitting a gob of foam onto the sausages.

The Big Haired One's footsteps rang out behind me.

"What is going on down here? Bronnie? Are you beating up Penny again?"

I heard Porky trailing her, his flat-footed Blundstone-clad feet slapping their way up the corridor.

The Big Haired One burst into the room.

"What in the hell are you animals -"

Her eyes shot from Penny, to me, to the sausages, to me. She immediately leapt forward and scooped up Penny, handing her to the Girlchild, who appeared behind her.

"Get her out of here!", The Big Haired One wailed. "Bronnie's sick!"

Porky nodded gravely. "It certainly looks like it." He scooped up a dollop of foam with his index finger. "Rabies."

Penny scowled. "Rabies? You moron, there has never been a case of rabies in Australia!"

Porky smiled.

"Say, Mum? Can you go get a dish of water? I'm gonna clean Bronnie up, and then I'll take her to the vet tomorrow."

"They can treat rabies?"

Porky nodded. "Absolutely. Bronnie AND Penny will just need a few shots. About twenty. In the solar plexus."

The Big Haired One sighed, and walked away, leaving us standing together. I smiled.

"You know, Penny - it is amazing how convincing an asprin tablet placed in a sausage can be if you want to convince people that you have rabies."

Penny's eyes bulged. "WHAT?"

"You heard me." I spat out the last of the foam, and wiped my mouth. "The disguise would fool anyone!"

Porky laughed. "Don't worry, Bronnie. I'm a bit too busy to take you to the vet for your shots tomorrow. But I'm sure Grandpa will be able to take you, Penny! After all - it's better to be on the safe side.", he giggled, holding up the asprin box.

Penny screamed. "Curses!"

The Big Haired One appeared with a bowl of water for me, which I proceeded to lap up. This cloak and dagger business was thirsty work.

"Give me Penny, Rebecca. I should probably take her down here and check her over. She's gonna need her sleep for the vet tomorrow."

Porky nodded. "Oh, I agree." He reached down and picked up the two sausages. "I guess Bronnie can have both of these. After all, no sense in infecting Penny if she DOESN'T have the virus."

The Big Haired One agreed. "Absolutely."

And, as I sank my fangs into the delicious, juicy sausage, I heard Penny howling wordlessly with rage, her tiny body shaking and convulsing, her eyes locked onto mine as I ate.

"Enjoy the sausages, Bronnie. Enjoy them. Because you're finished, bitch. You'd better watch your back. I know people. I have spies everywhere. There is nowhere you can hide. Do you hear me, bitch? You'll pay! You'll -"

The Big Haired One slung Penny over her shoulder, and marched her away.

"You'll... Paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay....", Penny screamed as she disappeared into the darkness.

Rebecca sat down as I ate my sausages. Porky looked down.

"Nice sausages, Bron?"

I nodded. "Most civilized. But there's one problem."

Rebecca looked at me with concern. "What's that?"

"We taught Penny a lesson and everything - but now, after all of this excitement, I think I've got a bit of a headache. Does anyone have an asprin?"

Porky smiled. "Would you like that asprin with - or without - a sausage?"

I laughed, and Rebecca blew me a kiss. Victory was sweet.

And so, here is Chewin' The Bone 1.0 - my contribution to the cavalcade of knowledge that is the world wide web, and an attempt to showcase my writing and modelling portfolios - in addition to the obvious catharsis of being able to frankly discuss my life, and the issues that pertain to hounds in the early part of the 21st century.

I imagine that you think, much as my 'owner'(sic) does, that the artistic output of the canine world pales in comparison that of the mainstream. I scoff at the suggestion, and point smirkingly to the boy-band phenomenon, the movies of Freddie Prinze Jnr., and anything on free to air television. Do we feel a little bit silly now? Of course you do. As you should. Do not judge me, simply because of my 'animal' status - a label which I find incredibly insulting.

So, I shall be talking to you - openly, and from the heart. Please, email me at bronnie@metalcity.org if you have comments or simply want to compliment me on my impeccable grooming, and heart-melting chocolate eyes.

Against my better judgement, I've been instructed to plug www.metalcity.org, my 'owner's site, and the one who graciously gave up his server space and bandwidth for me. A round of applause, if you will, for Porky - visit his site for far lesser examples of writing.