Tosh's Tails
Working Like a Dog
Monday, May 12, 2008
“Do I look like a budgie to you?” I asked the obtuse gate agent as she enquired about my pet status. I wouldn’t mind, but who is the only one here sober enough to check us all in? Who is holding all the passports, work visas and company credit cards? Whose paws are really on the wheel of this bandwagon? What’s the matter lady? Never seen a beagle off leash before? The only “pet” I know anything about is the heavy sexual kind they warn teenagers about. Hey. A litte beagle in your bed might go a long way lady......not much left down below, but check out my tongue. PET: Plowed Entertainer Transporter.
I am Tosh. And I own Mr. McCann there. Yes. The one face down on his MacBook......drooling.
I try to point out that all of this “unpleasantness” could have been avoided had the airline honoured its contract and let us all fly on the flight we paid for...the one that was supposed to leave 4 hours ago. I mean, I can’t really blame the lads for gettin shitcanned. What else r they gonna do in Toronto airport for the day? Go see the new Emily Carr exhibit? Finish Anna Karenina? Origami? No. They r gonna walk angrily up to the elite lounge and drink themselves silly.
“Unfit for travel” u say? I tend to agree missus. How u guys still have your wings is beyond me. OK then lads, all back to the lounge then......jeebus grant me strength....
and so it goes.
Tosh
Tosh (tells no) Tails #1
Monday, May 05, 2008
Woke up this morning with the unbelieveable urge to lick my balls.
I know it drives McCann crazy, but I was absolutely compelled to do it.
If he had caught me, it would have meant immediate eviction from the bed for sure, leaving room for that scheming Marley to suck up to the boss (as if he were never himself compelled). Luckily, the gnarly old bastard was in a scotch induced coma and probably wouldn’t have woken up had I pooped right on his swollen head.
Funny thing, compulsions. You know they r bad for you but u just can’t resist. The lure of the cat’s food, the delicate bones of the chicken, the rotating tire, the backside aroma of the french poodle.....all bad. All equally irresistable.
Last summer, Mccann left a full pot of pea soup on the counter and went out to play dinkies with the boy. It didn’t take me and Marley very long to get that upended and lick the floor clean. Burned my tongue and caught a mean case of the trots. McCann didn’t talk to me for days but you know what? I would do it again tomorrow...........with Bells on.
Why r some lessons seemingly unlearnable? I mean, I manage to pee outside now (that wasn’t easy). I will offer a paw, sit, and rollover for a friggin buscuit. But frak me if I can’t keep my tongue out of a boiling pot of pea soup! Hopeless.
McCann’s no better. He still scarfs back a whiskey and a smoke whenever he thinks he can get away with it (which is never). He still can’t drive past Leo’s without getting face and eyes into a FCDG & FO (fish, chips, dressing, gravy, and fried onoins) even though his dad almost dropped dead after enjoying such a deadly feast. Talk about a lack of self control. The man has a friggin deathwish.
But what do I know. I’m just a beagle.
All I wanna do is lick my balls.
Tosh
Disclaimer
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
For those not in the know, Tosh is Sean's closest friend and confidante. They have been inseparable since the day Sean first spotted him in the animal shelter and brought him home. Part Beagle, part Bassett hound, and part anyone's guess. Tosh has always struggled with issues of abandonment and insecurity. He also suffers from acute hip displasia and arthritis. Today, Tosh earns his keep working for the band both on and off the road. His primary assignment is to keep McCann from harming himself (or anyone else). Famous for his pronounced distinctive bark, he has never been known to bite. Yet. Tosh is three years old.
