Thoughts on Sundays and Michael Vick from Cooper Jack Russell Terrier Holloman Sneed

by Cooper Sneed

Hey, everybody. So this is the scene around here on Sundays. Brandon and Katie sleep forever. I have to scratch at the door and jump on their faces to wake them up. It's either that, or do other things on them they would appreciate even less. When nature calls, you answer, whether it's in the grass, the living room, or the bed. Fortunately for them, I've never gone on the bed. 

But anyway, then they get up and make a bigggg breakfast, and I'm always super jealous. I beg a lot. They're getting way too good at seeing through my puppy dog face. But I still got it. I know I do, because when Katie's not looking, Brandon slips me little pieces of pancake. Never had pancake before today. But it's GOOD! And that Brandon--I talk bad about him sometimes, but you know, he's all right. I don't care what everyone else says. 

Now, Brandon's watching a football game while Katie gets ready for church. A green team versus a red team. Brandon was groaning about Michael Vick getting hurt and maybe breaking a rib. If you're surprised I know who he is, don't be. Every dog in the world knows Michael Vick, a.k.a. The Worst Dog Owner In The History of Humanity. Lots of dogs agree with PETA* when PETA tells us we should want to eat this guy's legs. 

* PETA is capable of transmitting thoughts into the brains of every dog in the world, too. It's not legal for advertising companies with humans yet, but PETA's on the cutting edge with this stuff. Guess that's why they call them extremists.

I don't want to eat Mike Vick's legs, though. I want to run with him when he runs on those legs. He might be the WDOITHH, but he paid his debt to society and to dogs. It's a real shame that everyone's scared of pit bulls now because of him. I can vouch for pit bulls, though. My best friend is a girl named Haze, and she's a pit bull. She scares people who don't know her. Sort of like how Mike Vick scares dogs who don't know him. But trust me, Haze would hurt nobody. She's more obedient than I'll ever be. All someone has to do is point at her, she she'll lay down. You point at me, I'll sniff your hand and ask you where the treats are.

But Haze, she's just a big softy. And she doesn't want to eat Mike Vick's legs, either. She'd maybe lick them white, but she wouldn't eat him. She believes him when he says he's sorry, and she doesn't even know what football is. She just knows he made dogs hurt each other, but then she wonders why it's not OK for him to make dogs fight each other but it's OK for humans to fight each other. I try to tell her that it's because Vick and his boys were being mean, and that the dogs had no choice. But then she asks me how that's different from human's leaders--I think the term is "governments"--making them fight each other, and I don't know what to say, so I grab her chewbone and run, and we wrestle.

All that to say, I hope Mike Vick's ribs are OK, because Brandon likes watching him run around with that inflated skin of that dead pig.

Oh, I don't know. Back to my nap.