I am a chewy dog

Hello world

I like to chew things. Anything really. In one of my previous blogs I mentioned chewing my human sister’s homework. Well, I’ll let you into a little secret – it was not the only thing I have chewed in the past. One day my Mummy saw me having a delightful chew on some paper. She came over to me and saw what I was chewing. She said I was a bad dog and took it away. How was I to know that they were my human sister’s two tickets to the Katy Perry concert in Auckland? One day I found some reading glasses on the coffee table. They made lovely crunching sounds while I was chewing them. How was I to know that they belonged to my Aunty? Luckily she wasn’t there to tell me I was a bad dog. I am not a bad dog! If I can get access to the bedrooms, which isn’t very often, I can find lots of things to chew: socks; underwear; pantyhose; shoes; and tissues, anything I can run outside with. And my Mummy and Daddy tell me I am a bad dog. How can that be? Once I found four pieces of steak on the bench, just sitting here for me to help myself. It was as if they never existed. My Daddy said I was a naughty dog and the family had to eat fish pie for dinner. My family is very careful now about not leaving food on the bench when I am around. I wonder why? I am a tall dog. My nose can reach well over the top of the kitchen bench and surely that food is for me too? Had better go, time for me to do my morning perimeter patrol and a bit of loud barking to remind the valley I am here, which I did this morning at about 4 am. Me and the neighbour’s three dogs and two dogs further up the valley had a lovely barkathon.
Lots of love, Jasper the wonder dog.

Don't we look handsome!!

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