bored dog

The Dog with a Blog

Rubin writes….

So, dug me a hole the other day.

It was a great hole, you should’ve seen it – I may be just a little dog, but I dig a mean hole, I really do. So there I am, hole dug, chewstick already burried (one I prepared earlier hehe) and I go and start collecting my stuff to bury in The Hole. I get them all lined up nice and neat at the side of it: Teddy, Buddy, Freezebone, and my ball. I can see Amber and Terry talking in the kitchen, but they haven’t seen me ha! So I’m just about to start getting my stuff buried, and I see a bit of The Hole that’s not quite right.

I had to go all the way in to get it sorted (I told you it was a big hole) and while I’m down there I start to hear this noise…

So, I haul ass out of the hole, and there they are. Amber and Terry, and they’re going freaking crazy! Terry especially; I mean, you’d have thought it was his Freezebone I’d buried. Like, take a chill pill, pal! They were both all annoyed, waving their arms around and making noises like those Sims Amber’s always playing with. They wouldn’t let me back near the hole. I took off round the garden, doing my “running really fast like a bullet on speed” thing to confuse them, but when I stopped, Terry had filled in the hole! I think Buddy and Teddy got washed after that as well, but I’m not sure. I’ve got them all dirtied back up again now, but I’m still quite gutted about the hole. Now they’re watching me so much it’s like being in the Big Brother house. Haven’t had a chance to dig me another hole yet. But I will. Watch this space.

Rubin.

Rubin writes…

Ha!

Didn’t think you’d see ME again, did you? Ha! Y’all thought the Rubinman was finished. That you’d never see his like again. Well, think again, people! The Rubinman is back, better than ever before, and he is calling his followers to him. Ho yes.

So, did ya miss me? You better have missed me or I’ll come and bite you on the bum, every last one of you. I have SO much to tell you. It’s, like, so much happened while I was away, but at the same time, nuthin’ happened. You dig? (Heh, I certainly do ;))

Anyway, the most significant thing that happened was that my Norma and John went flying through the sky to that “Yew Ess Ay” place they’re always goin’ to. Now, I don’t know what this Yew Ess Ay is, but I think it’s like, a big mall or something? Because, like, when they come back from there, they always bring me MILLIONS of stuff.

This time round they brought me a HAIRY BONE from the Yew Ess Ay. Let me show you what happens to Hairy Bones around here:

Amber gives me Hairy Bone. Note damage sustained during a previous round of “Rubin v. Hairy Bone”

The battle commences.
Is it just me, or does my head look big in this?

I, like, totally wipe the floor with him.
Note: it was Amber that ACTUALLY had to wipe the floor. The Rubinman is no one’s slave.

Yup, I showed that sucker. Rawr!

Anyway, don’t tell my Norma and John this, because I think they want to surprise me and stuff, but I think they bought me a CAR, too. Reasons for me thinking this: I heard them all talking, and Amber was like, “What kind of car did you get?” and John was like, “Chevy Impala” and Amber was like, “cool”, and I was like: O-O

I mean, I can’t BELIEVE they bought me a car. Actually, scratch that: I can totally believe they bought me a car. I just can’t believe no one thought of it before now. I wonder when I’ll get it. Man, I’ll totally rock in that there car. I’ll be, like, too cool for school and stuff.

Anyway, yeah. I’ll be updating this thing a LOT now, so y’all better keep checking back to read me. Remember what happened to Hairy Bone…

Ciao for now,
Rubin

Rubin writes…

Sing it with me: Don’t be fooled by the toys that I got/ I’m still, I’m still Rubin from the block… Hell yeah I am.

So, the other night I get back from visiting my Norma and John, and all my OLD toys – i.e. the ones that AREN’T Purple Puppets – were waitin for me, and let me tell you, those dudes were NOT happy. They were all, “Rubin, man, you’ve totally forgotten your roots. You’re all about the Purple Puppet now, what about US, the toys you grew up with?” Then they go, “we put you up there, dude, and we can totally bring you back down again, what are you without us, yadda yadda.”

Let’s just get one thing straight here: the Rubinman has NOT forgotten where he came from. I may be “all that” now, and I may have a Purple Puppet and a totally spanky red coat, but I’m still, I’m still Rubin from the block. Just to prove it, here’s a little tribute to my homies:

This is my main man Buddy, my oldest pal and right hand dog:

Now, I know what y’all are thinkin. You’re all, like, “Buddy, he don’t look too good.” Yeah, well let me tell you, Buddy is WAY old: when I first arrived here in the ‘hood (if you remember, I was ADOPTED by A&T when I was a mere 8 weeks old) Buddy was right here waitin for me. Amber often tells the story of how they were so excited about my arrival that they’d sit Buddy in my bed and, like, pretend he was me and stuff. And that right there tells you pretty much all you need to know about Amber…

Anyway, yeah, so Buddy… Buddy’s been there with me through thick and thin. He was there with me when I went to Las Vegas, and he was there with me when I peed on Terry’s shirt that time. (In fact, Terry? Buddy MADE me do that. It wasn’t me, IT WAS BUDDY) I love my Buddy. Nevertheless, I still totally ripped his eyes and nose off. SO?!

This is me with my Mickey Hand:

My Mickey hand snuck into my Norma and John’s suitcase when they were in the “Yew Ess Ay” one time, and it came all the way across the ocean to be with me. It’s, like, a hand, and it squeaks. Who WOULDN’T love that?

Yeah, so this is Dead Head:

He, like, lives lives in the garden and stuff. This one time? I totally forgot that Dead Head was livin out in the garden, and I almost CRAPPED myself when I seen him. I am NOT scared of Dead Head though, because I am a WOLF. For real.

This is my PINK COW:

The pink cow is a mysterious, shady character. I say this mainly on account of the Time the Pink Cow VANISHED and was later discovered IN TERRY’S WARDROBE. How did it get there? Was the Pink Cow abducted by aliens? Did it walk there itself? Is there something Terry isn’t telling us? Dudes, we may never know.

I’ve got other toys, but I don’t want to make you too jealous, so I’ll sign off now. But remember : I used to have a little, now I gotta lot/ no matter where he goes Rubinman knows where he came from….

Rubin writes…

OK, so I hesitate to mention this, but somethin’s been buggin me.

It’s Amber.

It’s like, sure, she bugs me MOST of the time: take that as read. But lately…oh man… Lately every time we go out for a walk – EVERY time – she straps these stupid wheels onto her feet, like a big sissy. She calls them “rollerblades”. I call them “Stupid lubbish feet wheels”. Now, trust me, I know what you’re thinkin. I’m thinkin it too. It’s like, there’s me: white, fluffy (still WOLF like, though), runnin. Then there’s her: feet wheels, hair blowing in the wind, rollin’.

Yeah, we look like a freakin Tampax advert.

“Aiiiiieeeeeeee! Booooodyfooooorrrmmm! Bodyform for yoooouuu!” THAT’S what I think now every time I go on my walk. EVERY time. Stupid lubbish song playin in my head every time I try to take a crap. “Aiiiiiieeeeeee!” It has RUINED it for me.

Oh man, I have SO got to bust out of this place. It’s not like I haven’t been tryin, either. Like, last week I started to dig me a hole: I was totally going to burrow under the fence and bust out, but no. They seen me, and they were all, “Baaad Rubin! Baaad!” Idiots.

I would try leavin under cover of darkness, but of course they have me confined to Azkaban every night. Unbelievable. I mean, to lock a noble, wolf-like creature like myself in a CAGE is just unforgivable. And WHY, for the love of Dog? WHY? What purpose does it serve? I mean, sure I peed on the kitchen floor every night in life before they banished me to Azkaban. Sure I did. And yeah, there may have been the odd crap or three along the way too. SO? What of it?

Nah, I don’t think that’s it. I think they just put me there because, it’s like, I’m so scary and stuff and they don’t want me roaming free at night in case I savage them in their beds or something. Which, by the way? I totally WOULD.

I am SO breakin’ free. Azkaban is one thing, but these stupid feet wheels are just the final straw. I will NOT stay here to be made to look like a stupid sissy dog. I’m not the freakin’ Andrex puppy, you know! Uh-uh. The Rubinman wouldn’t be caught DEAD lookin’ like a sissy. No way.

Aieeeee!”

Rubin writes…

I’ve got something you’ve not got! I got a PURPLE PUPPET! Man, I bet you’re all totally jealous. No wonder I look smug:

(That thing right behind me, by the way? The CAGE? That’s what Amber and Terry call my “Den” and I call “Azkaban.” That’s where I live now. The nice, COW print bed I’m sitting in here? Just for show. So that Amber and Terry can pretend like they don’t make me the prisoner of AZKABAN every night. Muppets.)

Anyway, in not-so-good news, we have a GREEN THING living in our spare room –>

Pepe

For those of you who’ve never seen one, it’s called a “Pepe” and you get them from Terry’s mum’s house. My advice is to not get one, though, because they’re, like, really, really annoying. A & T are always talking to it for one thing and – get this – it TALKS BACK to them. It talks complete LUBBISH, of course, but still… when it does it A&T look all pleased, like the Pepe’s been dead clever or something. Like, big deal! I talk ALL the time. Yesterday I barked like a maniac for five minutes straight and what do I get? “Baaaad Rubin! Baaaad!.” Hmph. I even heard Amber telling the Pepe it was a “pretty boy” yesterday. OK, I’M the pretty boy around here, lets get that straight. I do NOT appreciate being usurped by a Pepe. No way. Stupid lubbish bird.

Yeah.

Rubin writes…

Dudes, Bob Dylan has wrote a song about me.

This is my favourite bit:

“Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
But he never did like to talk about it all that much.
It’s my work, he’d say, and I do it for pay
And when it’s over I’d just as soon go on my way”

Yeah. He totally GETS me, you know? Me n’ Bob, we’re like THAT. No one has ever understood me like Bob does. I mean, it’s like, I’ll do a crap in the kitchen, you know? But will I boast about it? Nosir**. It’s my work, I say, and I do it for pay. And when it’s over I’d just as soon be on my way.

I’m, like totally overwhelmed. I mean, obviously it was just a matter of time before someone wrote a song about the Rubinman, but I had no idea that Dylan was a fan. I’m thinkin of sending him the Purple Puppet as a token of my appreciation, but I’m worried that then he might write a song about the PP and take some of the spotlight away from yours truly. Whaddya think?

Anyway, I’m very much heartened by this development. With people like Dylan carrying the flame for me, I can’t help but feel that soon I will be totally busted out of AZKABAN and this journal will be used as proof of my suffering. I’ll be a LEGEND man. Me n’ Bob. I’m just wondering who else will join the fight to clear my name? I’m thinkin probably Sting. I’m thinkin Sting will write a song, and let me tell you, if Sting does that it’s totally NOT MY FAULT. So don’t even say anything.

Actually, now I come to think of it, it’s strange that Sting and Bob Geldof haven’t been around by now, wanting to hold a benefit concert or somethin’ for me. I mean, they did it for Nelson Mandela, and me n’ him are in, like, EXACTLY the same situation: both of us wrongly imprisoned for peeing on the kitchen floor, both persecuted for our beliefs (my beliefs: dogs should be able to pee on kitchen floors; Mandela’s beliefs: um, dunno, but probably the same), both black***…

Sing it with me, people:

“Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties
Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise

While Rubin sits like buddha in a ten-foot cell
An innocent man in a living hell.

That’s the story of the hurricane,
But it won’t be over till they clear his name
And give him back the time he’s done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he coulda been
The champion of the world.

* With every purchase. Conditions apply.
* *Sometimes I totally WILL boast about it, though.
** Except me, obviously. I’m white, but it’s, like, the same thing.

“An innocent man, in a living hell…”

Rubin writes…

I got a PINK DONKEY. A PONKY!

Actually, I’m going to just come clean: I got TWO ponkies, and the reason I got two ponkies was that the first one… well, the first one was an IMPOSTOR Ponky. For real.

I blame myself. My Norma had gone to “Ikea” with A&T, and she brought back this dude:

Ponky

Now, I admit it, I got carried away. There was a rush to judgement. Soon as I seen it: pink, big ears, smilin’, I was just like, “Oh man, a PONKY!” I couldn’t BELIEVE it, and, well, basically I was right not to believe it, because it wasn’t a freakin ponky at all – it was a RABBIT.

Yeah, yeah, I know what y’all are thinkin. Yoos are all, “easy mistake to make, Rubinman – I mean, who HASN’T seen a rabbit and thought it was a donkey?” Well, sure, YOU LOT could easily make the mistake, but for a professional like myself to confuse a rabbit with a PONKY – well, that’s just shameful.

I mean, it’s not the Ponky Rabbit’s fault. By the time I realised he was Not a Ponky, I’d been throwin that dude all over the place, chasin him, playing with him – me n’ him were like THAT. So I decided to keep him, and everything was cool, and then today… today Terry gets in his “car” and drives away, and the next thing I know, he’s back with THIS:

ponky

Now, THAT’s a Ponky for ya. That there is a REAL Ponky. If ever you need to know whether you got yourself a PONKY or a rabbit, you just check out this here picture and that’ll tell you for sure. (And don’t say I’m not good to you. Where else could you get free advice on Ponky-spotting? Only from the Rubinman…) I couldn’t BELIEVE it! I mean, on Friday I had NO PONKIES and now I have TWO! I bet there’s not a single one of you can say that. Obviously Terry had been Ponky-huntin’. Who woulda thunk it? I had no idea he even knew where to find a ponky. Hee! I totally rule. Me an m’ponkies.

Don’t even LOOK at my ponkies. They’re MY ponkies. Rubinman does not share!

Rubin writes…

Just to clarify here : I didn’t know they were Amber’s favourite shoes when I ate them. I didn’t! I thought the last pair I ate were her favourite shoes? Who has two favourite pairs of shoes (Answer: Amber, obviously. The freak.) I’m not saying I wouldn’t have eaten them if I’d known, but I’d maybe have gone a bit easier on them. Maybe.

Still, though – you’d think I’d freaking killed somebody! Amber takes one look at the shoes and runs into the bedroom in tears, flings herself onto the bed and throws a hissyfit. Terry gets all worried and goes in to comfort her, says he’ll fix the shoes etc. (Ha! Like to see you try Big T!) Well, what’s a pup to do? I thought it was the right thing. I was just trying to get their attention off the shoes and back onto moi, you know? So I casually wandered into the room they were in and did a crap on the floor. Ha! That shut them up! Well, it shut them up for about 5 seconds, anyway. Then they freaked out again.

Terry picked me up and took me out of the room, giving me the usual,”baaaaad Rubin! Baaaaad Rubin! No! NO!” as we went. Nearly broke my doggy ears. He put me in my basket in the spare room, where I adopted a suitably puzzled expression. Meanwhile, Amber’s going mental in the bedroom – all over a pair of shoes. I mean, is it just me or is that completely weird? Terry cleaned up the crap (it was a really smelly one too, I was quite proudof it) and they calmed down a bit. Amber didn’t speak to me all night though. Oooooh!

It wasn’t long after that episode that they gave me a bath. Now, I’m not saying the two incidents were connected, but they obviously were. I mean,I’d done nothing wrong. There I was, minding my own business, out in the garden digging me some holes. Got a few minor holes on the go at the moment;nothing like The Hole, of course, but not too shabby at all, though I say it myself.

So I’m digging, running around like a maniac, digging again.Once I’d finished for the night I had a good roll in the long grass, got myself all covered in mud- it was everywhere but I figured I’d have a good shake once I was in the house, leaveit on the floor for Amber. She must quite like cleaning the floor cos she’s always doing it, so I figured I was doing her a favour. Anyway, I come in, have a good shake and go and bark for them to give me attention.

Well, I got it. I got a BATH. What a nightmare, although afterwards, I have to say, I did look nice – all fluffyand white and they kept cuddling me and calling me a good boy. I got some of that doggy chocolate as well, so it wasn’t too bad. Ah well, off to shred some newspapers for them. A dog’s work is never done.

Rubin writes…

Yo, Rubinman in da house. Here’s the thing, though: I’m totally NOT in the house. I haven’t been in the house for TWO WEEKS in fact, and quite frankly, I am NOT amused…

Now, I’m not talkin about my OWN house, here. Like, I’ve been THERE – aint no one could kick the Rubinman out in the cold. No, it’s my Norma and John’s house. I haven’t been welcome there for weeks, and you know why? Because my “Uncle Jerry” has been there, that’s why.

Now, I know what yoos all are thinkin’. Yoos are all, “ah, that’s nice, he must’ve came to see the Rubinman.” Yeah, right. Dude is TERRIFIED of me. Like, totally terrified. Every time he’s here he’s all, “where’s that wolf? Is that wolf here? You keep that wolf away from me, OK?” TERRIFIED. He tries to make out that he’s just “allergic”, but I think we all know the truth – I scare the bejesus outta him, and you got to admit, it’s understandable. I mean, you only haveta look at me ->

Anyway, so that’s partly why I haven’t been “blogging” for a while. The “Uncle Jerry” came and there were whole days where weren’t nothin’ to do but pee all over the kitchen and on my bed. Last week I peed on my bed seven times. Seven. Hee! I also perfected a little somethin’ I’ve been working on for a while. I call it “projectile peeing”, and I’m like, the world champion at it. It’s like, I’ll probably be peeing for Scotland in the next Olympics or something.

I first found out I could do it one day when I was out walking Amber and we went over this bridge. Bridge has got metal railings along it, road down below. Well, I did what anyone else would do – lifted my leg and let fly. Hee! Imagine it: car on the road, full of happy campers off on their hodilays… as they approach the bridge they see the Rubinman up above, leg raised… Now we don’t go over that bridge no more. Anyways, I can also projectile pee out of AZKABAN, my dog crate. I can totally lift my leg and pee and it lands nowhere near my bed. You should see Amber’s face! (Note: sometimes I totally pee on my bed anyway, just because I can).

Also: that thing happened again. That thing where I go to bed and everything’s normal and then I wake up and there’s mental white stuff everywhere. Here’s a little game for you – I call it “Where’s Rubin?”

D’yer know what it is yet?

It’s meeeeee!

Here’s another (scarier) one for yoos:

Yeah, don’t even LOOK at my ball. Especially not you, Unc Jer. I’ll bite your face off!
This one’s for you Unc Jer:

Smell ya later, dudes!

P.S. Norma? Don’t say anything about me bein’ out without my red coat on. It’s like, wolves families don’t even make them wear coats. For real.

* answer: My Uncle Jerry

Rubin writes…

She made me wear the red coat.

I could not BELIEVE it. Every single winter this happens. Every single winter. (Note: one winter it didn’t happen but, it’s like, who’s counting? Answer: me.)

I mean, how many wolves have you seen wearing a RED COAT recently? One wolf? Two wolves? Or maybe how about NO WOLVES? Yeah, thought so. The things I have to do to get a walk around here.

So, anyways, I get the RED COAT on and I take Amber for her walk, and as we pass this building site thing, I notice that the workmen are all, “oooh, lookit the little poodle!” I mean, I didn’t think anything off it at first; I just assumed they were talkin’ about Amber and, well, yeah, she totally IS a bit of a poodle sometimes. It was only when I heard one of them go, “yeah, lookit its little red coat!” that I realised they were talkin’ about ME.

Now, let’s just get one thing straight right now. I am NOT a poodle. I am a Bichon Frise, and let me tell you, there is a BIG difference. See?

Poodle:

Bichon Frise:

I just get so sick of it, y’know? I mean, here I am, fierce and wild, and they got me dressed in a freakin RED COAT and builders are callin’ me a POODLE. I am SO not happy about this. I think someone’s shoes may be in for a little surprise tonight, let me tell yoos.

Smell ya,
Rubin

Rubin writes…

I think if I were to name the worst thing I ever did it would havta be The Sheet Incident. Amber had washed a sheet. It was white and HUGE. She spent HOURS ironing it, and she was complaining the whole time because she hates ironing. Well, I waited until she was just about finished. Then in I strolled, casual as anything. Amber started to notice a really strong smell of pee… She looked down… There, right in the middle of her beautiful, crisp, snowy-white sheet, was a huge yellow pee-stain. The Rubinman had struck again.

Well, I thought she was going to kill me. She was really MAD – and even more so when she chased me down the stairs and almost stood in the pile of crap I’d left at the bottom. (Note the word “almost” here. She didn’t ACTUALLY stand in it. So why all the fuss?) After that I decided to quieten things down a bit, pretend to be “good”. I did the odd pee here and there – mainly there, on the corner of the leather suite, to be honest, and I was sent to the SIN BIN for that. But I tried to be good. Until last week.

Last week I decided to reprise my “peeing on the ironing” act. She had been ironing Terry’s shirts. Two of them. She had hung them up on a chair for Terry to put them away. Ha! It wasn’t until he was getting ready for bed that he found the tell-tale yellow marks. I had managed to get both of the shirts. And – get this – by then it was TOO LATE for them to give me a row! Hee!

Also last week I pulled off my greatest trick yet. Imagine, if you will, that you’re Amber. You’ve just come downstairs first thing in the morning to find that the Rubinman has, as always, left a big pile o’ crap beside the back door, on the newspapers which are provided for that very purpose. You heave a big sigh and begin to clean up. It’s as you straighten up from disinfecting the floor that something catches your eye. Something brown and smelly. Almost like a crap. But no, it’s at eye level. It can’t be? Surely to god it CAN’T be?! It is. There, sitting on the kitchen counter, right next to your bonsai tree and your fairy liquid, is a crap. How did it get there? How, for the love of god, did it get there?! In the corner sits the Rubinman, quietly watching….

I bet you’re wondering how I did it, aren’t you? You’re thinking, ‘small dog, high counter’ – how DID he do it? Well I’m not going to tell you. Does the Magic Circle give its secrets away? Well then.

Other than that, here’s a list of other BAD stuff I’ve done:
1. barking really early in the morning
2. barking during the middle of the night
3. barking really early in the morning ON THE WEEKEND
4. a bit more barking
5. some more barking
6. barking again
7. and a quick spot of barking
8. barking
9. I’m still barking
10. STILL barking
11. I’ve stopped for a quick pee
12. I’m barking again
13. And again
14. I WON’T STOP barking
15. Bite me.

Hee!
Anyway, better go and have a nap. I’m up early tomorrow…

P.S .
Also: got me a new bed. Ya like?

Rubin writes…

Yeah, so last night? After we’d got home from my Norma and John’s? I waited till A&T were asleep then I crapped all over my bed. Yes, AGAIN! That’s three beds I’ve ruined this week alone – three beds AND Azkaban. Man, I am ON A ROLL here, people. Also: Amber and Terry don’t speak to me no more. They have, like, NO sense of humour AT ALL. I mean, why so serious all the time?

Anyway, I totally don’t want to talk about it anymore, it’s just, like, SO last night. Oh OK, I will: I will talk about it because actually? Things are quite serious. A&T are REALLY not happy with me. This morning they were all “BAAAAAAD boy” for, like, HOURS. I think I will have to leave to leave home. They don’t understand me, here. Also, I think what they’ll probably do is, they’ll probably get another pet to replace me, and that other pet will probably be that freakin’ Pepeman. GOD.

Just in case you’re wonderin’, by the way, I am STILL not afraid of the Pepe. No way. Quite the opposite, in fact – it was here a few weeks ago, and it was obviously TERRIFIED of me. Lookit!

Rubin writes…

This update comes to you live from the “Sin-bin”, where I’ve been remanded in custody by Terry after a day of total and utter BADNESS.

First there was the matter of Amber’s flowers. Well. Somehow during the night Amber had growed two flowers in the garden. Well, I don’t know how she did it, but they weren’t there the night before, and in the morning Amber was looking at them all smiley, so she must have growed them. Which was silly of her. I mean, they were right there in front of me – tall and obscenely orange. You know that thing people say about how dogs are colourblind? Crap. It’s just not true. If it was true, then those flowers wouldn’t have annoyed me this morning: I just wouldn’t have seen them, and if I hadn’t seen then, I wouldn’t have ran over to them and bit both their heads off before the orange-headed freaks knew what had hit them. Well Amber went crazy. Crazy like a LOON. She went so crazy that she totally distracted me from what I was supposed to be doing in the garden in the first place in the morning – the result being that I crapped on her bedroom floor while she was drying her hair. Well, you would have done the same.

I quietened down a bit during the day. Shredded up a newspaper while she was working right enough, but I reserved the real BADNESS for when Terry came home. Then I just went for it. I started making out like I needed a pee, so they had to keep getting me up and taking me out: then when I got outside I’d eat stones, sticks – even managed to pull a small BRANCH of one of their trees and eat it – anything except answer the call of nature. Finally they’d get bored of standing at the door watching me, so they’d go back inside – at which point I’d turn up and make like I needed a pee again. So frustrating for them! Finally they put me outside and told me to just get on with it. At which point the fat kid from next door turned up.

He turned up with a GUN. I kid you not. The fat kid was carrying a freakin’ gun. Well, what’s a wolf to do? Bearing in mind that it’s up to me to guard the house, I started barking my ass off. Then Terry appeared, wanted me to come inside. Like, no way! So I started running. I ran flat out round the garden. Round and round and round the garden, Terry chasing me the whole way. He wouldn’t give up, but neither would the Rubinman. I ran like that for like an HOUR, it was truly an awesome sight. Amber leaned out of the spare room window and laughed at Terry the whole time. He didn’t catch me: I’m fast like a JAGUAR. Finally I stopped to get me a drink of water, and Terry just, like, picked me up and put me in the Sin Bin. Hee, though! I rock!

<em>Rubin writes…</em>

n my time, I’ve often been described as a “dirty dog”. Indeed, there are those who have described me as a “filthy dog”, and still others who have called me a “BAAAAD BOY”, or a “dirty wee b******d”. But those people are WRONG my friends, for the Rubinman, he is as clean and as pure as the driven snow. I mean, I even brush my freaking TEETH:

I know what yoos are thinkin’, by the way. Y’all are like, “no way is the Rubinman actually using that brush, he’s just posing with it little a stupid sissy dog.” But you are WRONG. See?

Ha! Watch me go! I hope this clarifies the whole “Just a dog” rumour that goes around about me, people. Oh yeah, you think I don’t know, but let me tell you, the Rubinman knows ALL. I know, for example, that they are planning on sending me to “Las Vegas” for A&amp;T’s wedding, and y’know what? I’m starting to doubt that place even IS Las Vegas. It’s like, I didn’t see no Elvis when I was there, y’hear what I’m sayin’?

Anyway, just take note here: if I can brush my teeth like a human, you just don’t know WHAT else the Rubinman can do. Just a thought for you.

So, not a lot happenin’. Terry still mad as a brush. He’s, like, totally obsessed with my PAWS. “Give me a paw,” he’ll say, a few times a day. I mean, why? What does he want my paw for? “Get your own paw,” I always feel like saying, but once I’ve handed over the paw he always make a big fuss of me, and sometimes I get a sweetie, so I put up with it. MAD, though. And another thing: what’s with the whole “Sit – stand – lie down” routine that he keeps making me go through? I mean, you don’t see me walking up to him and going, “Hi Terry – SIT! Now LIE DOWN!” do you? So why does he do it to me? Because he’s MAD, that’s why.

Smell ya’s later, folks
Rubin

Rubin writes…

Oh man, lookit what I got, I gotta PINK BOWL!

Now, I know what yoos all are thinkin’. Yoos are all, “OMG he gotta SISSY GIRL BOWL!” Well, shows what yoos know, eh? Yeah, OK, personally I would’ve preferred the bowl in red because people are, like, always telling me that red is SO my colour, and they are totally right about that, but actually, the Rubinman can carry off any colour really. When you’re as fierce and scary as I am, ain’t no pink bowl in the WORLD can make you look like a sissy. Also, the pink bowl has a crown on it, and that is because I am totally doggie royalty. For real.

Anyway, as you can tell by the “buying of the bowl”, Amber and Terry are liking me again, and that’s because I’ve toned it down a bit with the whole peeing in the house thing. Any more would’ve been overkill, you know what I’m saying? Also, it’s more effective if I lull them into a false sense of security for a while and then BAM! Pee on the kitchen floor! Hee! Anyway, they get over excited when I’m REALLY bad, so I haveta watch it sometimes.

NOT a sissy bowl! RAAAAR!

Rubin writes…

Oh man, wait till I tell you what I did last night! You will be, like, SO impressed!

So, as y’all know, because they are as mad as fish, Amber and Terry like to confine me to Azkaban of an evening. Well, Sting and Bob Geldof never did turn up to FREE ME, so for months now I have been forumulating a plan – a plan that I cunningly put into action last night.

Last night, you see, was “windy”, and I don’t mean in the “OMG, Rubinman, have you farted again?” kind of way. No, it, was, like, a STORM, and as I sat there, deep within the confines of AZKABAN, listening to the wind howl around the house, I knew that my time had come. It was time for the Rubinman to be free, and to take his rightful place in the BIG BED – Amber and Terry’s basket, upstairs.

Well, I started barking. Every time the wind howled, the Rubinman howled with it. I barked and I barked until I was actually starting to annoy even myself. I knew it would be worth it, though. I knew it would get a reaction, and, sure enough, after not very long, Terry showed up. Man, he was MAD. He was, like, totally shouting and saying BAD WORDS at me like a crazymad thing, so what I did was, I shut up until he was on his way back to his basket, and then I started it up again. And again. And again. God, it was the best performance of my life. Terry was getting madder by the moment, but I knew that within twenty minutes I’d be upstairs and I’d be in that there BIG BED right along with Them.

I gave myself thirty minutes to break him. It only took about ten. Before I knew what was happening, I was upstairs. He had brung my bed with him, but, like I was going to sleep on the floor! No way, man. I just waited until he lay down, then I jumped out and ran round the bedroom like a madman, popping my head up every now and then – POP!

Within minutes, I had achieved my goal. I was picked up and allowed to sleep in the BIG BED, and, it’s like, that’s where I’ll be sleeping from now on, dudes. I just need to work out how to get A&T out of the way – let them sleep in Azkaban from now on, see how they like it.

Anyway, enough of this. Before I go, though, I just want to clear something up. Quite a lot of yoos have been askin’ me lately if I really write the blawg myself. Yoos are all, “You’re a dog, dude, you can’t type, I bet Amber writes it for you!” Well, yoos are WRONG. This here blawg is all my own work, and to prove it, here is a picture of me “blogging”. As you can see, got me a GREAT BIG keyboard, so’s I can type. SO THERE.

Smell yas, dudes!
Rubin

Rubin writes…

Ha! I gotchya there, didn’t I? Yes, it’s true that I fought a sock today, sure, but if y’all ACTUALLY BELIEVED that the sock won, well, you don’t know the Rubinman very well, do yoos? Like a sock would beat me! No, I totally defeated that sucker – ripped it right off Terry’s foot, threw it about some, broke its stupid neck, KILLED IT. I had no mercy, and that’s because I? Was raised by wolves.

Also: that stupid rubbish Pepeman is here again. Like I don’t have enough to do without keepin’ that dude in line all day. Today I was busy playing with my ponkies, and the Pepe started doing this mad cackling, like it was LAUGHING at me or something. I know! Ha, bet it was laughin’ on the other side of its green feathered face after it saw the masterful way I dealt with the sock, eh?

You’ll keep, Pepeman, you’ll keep…

Rubin writes…

Yo peeps, s’up? Rubinman in da house…

So, at the weekend it was Amber’s “birthday”, but guess who got presents? YES, it was ME – the Rubinman got presents, and let me tell you, that’s exactly the way it should be, because do you know what Amber and Terry got me for MY “birthday”? NOTHING, that’s what. NOTHING. Anyways, it’s like, they totally got me a present for Amber’s “birthday” and this is what it was:

YES! It’s a BLING COLLAR! A “BLOLLAR!” Got me a BLOLLAR and damn, but I look mighty fine in my Blollar, let me tell you. I’d show you, but it’s like, I’m keepin’ it for special occassions, like when I take Amber out for a walk and we haveta go past all me bitches in the street. For real. And also: because my hairs are so WILD, you can’t really see the Blollar too good. Still, I got one, and, you know, that’s more than you got, so there.

Now, I know what you’re thinkin’ about me n’ my BLOLLAR. Yoos are all, “Nancy boy got a gold collar with SPARKLY BITS on it! First he gets a PINK BOWL then he gets a freakin’ BLOLLAR, what is he, some kind of sissy?” Well, the Rubinman is NOT a sissy, and I’ll tell yoos how I know. Lookit this: does HE look like a sissy to you?

No, I didn’t think so. It’s my man 50 Cent – note the BLOLLAR. Yeah, old 50 Cent, he got his BLOLLAR on back to front, but that’s ‘cos he is NO WAY as cool as the Rubinman. He’ll learn. In the meantime, I’m off to strut my stuff show off my ice, ice baby. Smell yas!

Rubin

Rubin writes…

Now, I don’t want yoos all to get too jealous here, but it’s like, I think I might be goin’ to Las Vegas again. I’m not that bothered about it. I mean, I’ve been before, and let me tell you, it’s not all that great, Las Vegas. Last time I went was, like, totally WEIRD. Amber and Terry were goin’ and so were my Norma and John, so I was like, “OK, cool, goin’ to Las Vegas,” so I packed up my ponkies, we all get in the “car”, and then what happened was, we drove to this place that was totally like a DOG KENNEL, and I mean, TOTALLY. There’s no Elvis, there’s no slot machines, there’s NUTHIN there. And I was like, “This Vegas totally sucks,” and I didn’t even see Amber and Terry all week, so it’s like, their kennel must’ve been on another part of The Strip?

When they eventually turned up they were all, “Blah blah slot machines, blah blah Grand Canyon, blah blah all-you-can-eat-buffet-at-The-Bellagio” and I was like, “EH? Weren’t no SLOT MACHINES on my part of the strip, no siree. And ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFETS?! I was eatin’ DOG FOOD every night. EVERY NIGHT, people. And it wasn’t all I could eat either – not even close. I mean, this is the Rubinman, I once ate seven cats, y’know? So, it’s like, I know people totally rave about the Las Vegas, and don’t get me wrong, it was OK, but it’s like, it wasn’t GREAT, you know what I mean?

So, anyways, last week Amber and Terry are talkin’ about their freakin’ WEDDING AGAIN. (GOD, when will they shut up about that already? I mean, it’s not like there’s even anything good happening at it. They got no ponkies, no wolves, NOTHIN) and suddenly Terry’s all, “Oh, and we’ll need to book Rubin into Las Vegas again” and I was like: ?????????????!!!!

I think I’m only going for two nights this time while they’re having their stupid “wedding”, then I’m staying with my Norma and John but even so, it’s like, long way to go for TWO NIGHTS, no? And all I can say is, they better have booked me a better hotel this time. Like, one with an all you can eat buffet and stuff. Yeah, they better do that or I will NOT be happy, and trust me, they will NOT LIKE IT if the Rubinman’s not happy…

NOT happy…

I put a spell on yoos…
Yeah, so this is NOT the Rubinman… I know y’all come here specifically to see the Rubinman, but, it’s like, he ain’t here. The Rubinman doesn’t dress up in stupid sissy Yoda clothes, no way man. No, this is… this is a WOLF speaking on his behalf. Yeah, a wolf. A wolf in Rubinman’s clothing. No, wait, NOT in Rubinman’s clothing – the Rubinman doesn’t HAVE clothing like this. Stupid ass wolf.

Anyway, Rubin would just like it to be known that if Amber and Terry ever DID buy a Yoda suit, and if they ever made Rubin WEAR that there Yoda suit, Rubin would bite both their bums. And also: if any of yoos are laughin’ at me him right now, he will bit all your bums too, every last of them, and don’t even think he wont.

Rubin A Wolf

So, what a lot of yoos Rubin fans probably don’t know is that as well as hunting fat kids and postmen, and just generally bein’ a mad scary WOLF, the Rubinman is also a “moovy star” in his spare time. Yes, it’s true, the Rubinman is famous. I’m big in Japan, apparenty.

Anyway, here’s one of them “moovys” I made just for you, people. It’s like, I really hope it doesn’t scare yoos too much, you know? Kids, ask your parents before you watch this. And don’t have nightmares. (Unless you’re a postman, in which case you SHOULD be scared, and I mean it.)

Rubin writes…

Yeah, so nothing much happening this week, saved Amber’s life on Sunday, but seriously, all in a day’s work for the Rubinman, so not even worth talkin’ about really…

OK, I’ll talk about it, because actually, it might be a lesson to all of yoos who think it might be a good idea to mess with the Rubinman, because, let me tell you, you do NOT mess with the Rubinman.  So, anyways, Sunday afternoon I take Amber for a walk, and we go for our walk in the woods behind the house because, it’s like, being part wolf and all, I’m totally comfortable in them woods, y’know? Anyway, I’m sniffing prowlin’ around like a mad thing, here a pee, there a pee, everywhere a pee pee, and next thing I know, this BAD MAN has jumped out of the wood, and he’s, like, totally threatening to kill Amber.

Well, I did what any wolf would have done in the circumstances: I started barkin’ like a maniac, totally threatening the guy and basically letting him know that the Rubinman was on the scene now, and that if there was any killin’ to be done, it would be the Rubinman that would be doin’ it. I would totally have bit his face off, and actually, I nearly did, but I could see Amber was scared, so I decided to get her out of there. And anyway, my barking frightened the dude so much that he up and ran away like a sissy girl. Hee! Rubinman to the rescue!

Later, the “poleece” came to interview me, and, I suspect, just to get a look at me. It’s not everyday you get to see a HERO, you know. I had been out digging me a hole and I was DIRRRTY. I was totally the SMELL too – really, really smelly – but the “poleece” was, like, totally awed by me, I could tell. He’ll probably dine out on the story for years.

I sat on Amber’s knee while she was talking to him cos I knew he would appreciate me being there – he could learn a lot from me. He said to Amber, “You’re just lucky your wolf was with you at the time. If it wasn’t for the quick thinking of young Rubin here, well, none of us would be here today.” It’s true, you know, and Amber knew it. When the “poleece” left, she gave me a JUMBONE and even Terry kept going on about how BRAVE I was. “Like a lion,” Terry said – I bet he’ll think twice about giving me a row for peeing in the house in the future.

I think the “poleece” are probably going to ask me to join the force. I won’t go though – it’s obvious how much my Amber and Terry rely on me just now, I mean they can’t look after themselves at ALL. I’ve got, like, all the responsibility for looking after them resting on my furry shoulders now – it’s just a good job I’m WOLF really, I mean, I don’t think many dogs would be as brave as me…

 

Smell yas!

Rubin

Rubin writes…

That stupid rubbish bird is back again. I mean, it’s like, what’s a wolf got to do to get some peace round here? Last time it came I totally scared it witless, of course, so this time what dsoes it do? It brings “backup”, that’s what.  Yeah, it’s gotta accomplice. The accomplice is this “tortoise” and man, but it is ARMED. It’s like, totally covered in armour, it’s THAT scared of me! Hee! And, like, when it sees me? It goes and hides inside its armour. Stupid rubbish tortoise. Not feeling so brave now, Pepeman, are you? Ha! Lookit the terror on its face in this picture. I’ve, like, climbed up its basket and it’s all, “No, Rubinman, don’t hurt me!”

Obviously, as soon as it arrived, I went and did me a pee on the washing machine. THAT showed them who was boss round here. Since then I’ve been keeping a low profile, biding my time until it’s time to STRIKE. Today I DID have a total run-in with Amber, though. It’s like, what I did was, I went into the garden and I stared doing me a bit of barking at the woman next door. When Amber came out to try and “catch” me though, I was all, “like to see you try, sucker!” She did try, but I ran rings round her, and I mean I LITERALLY ran rings round her. Nobody puts Rubinman in the corner, I’ll tell ya.

Anyway, I came into the house when I was good and ready, and now me n’ Amber, we don’t talk no more. Shame, but I’d do it again if I had to.

Smell yas!
Rubin

Rubin writes…
I don’t know, sometimes it’s like a dog can’t do nothin’ right, you know? It’s like: I pee on the washing machine, and that’s WRONG. So I pee against the side of the couch, and THAT’S wrong too. So I pee against the freezer and, guess what? Also WRONG. I mean, what’s a Rubinman to do?
Well, I’ll tell ya what a Rubinman did. I peed INSIDE TERRY’S BIN, that’s what I did. Ha! And, it’s like, I know yoos are probably all, “OMG! How did he do it?” but seriously dudes, it wasn’t even that hard – not to a cunning fox wolf like me, anyways.
So, I’m sleeping in the “spare room” these days, right? And in the “spare room” is Terry’s bin. Now, it was so simple I totally don’t know how come I didn’t think of it before, because, it’s like, yesterday morning I wakes up (early, like always. So’s I can do a bit of barking before They get up) and that bin is sittin’ there right in front of me, and suddenly it just hits me: “I’m totally going to pee in you,” I thought. So I did. Terry’s bin is like, made of wire, so alls I had to do was lift my leg against it and voila! (That’s “French”, by the way, and it means “the pee totally landed in the bin”. And, OK, some of it landed on the floor, too, but it’s the thought that counts, you know?)
Anyways, so I do that and then I hear Amber gettin’ up, and the next thing I know, she’s opened the door of the “spare room” and she’s totally standin there with this look on her face, like there’s a bad smell under her nose or somethin. And actually, there IS a bad smell under her nose, because she’s, like, standin right next to Terry’s BIN, and that thing, it don’t smell too good now, you know?
Amber does the whole “BAAAAAD!” thing with me, then she goes to Terry and she’s all, “Rubin peed in your bin,” and then Terry’s like, “WHAT?!” and I first I thought he was impressed, but as it turns out, not so much because then HE does the “BAAAAD!” thing as well, and then all day they keep mentioning that bin. And it actually started to get on my nerves, to be honest, so tonight after dinner, what I did was, I peed against the side of the freezer again.
TOTAL overreaction from the pair of them, as usual, but especially from Terry, who was all upset because, it’s like, the freezer is right next to the back door? And the back door was open at the time? But I was like, SO WHAT? It was raining, and when was the last time Terry went out and peed in the back garden in the rain? Well EXACTLY.
I better be gettin somethin good for my “Christmas” is alls I can say, because they’re getting beyond a joke, they really are. It’s like, they better get me a CAR or somethin to make up for it. Then I can pee in that as well.
Rubin

 

 

 

Rubin writes…

So, growed me a set o’ horns. Ya like?

(note: there’s still only just one of me, I just gave ya two pictures, so there’s more of me to love)

Now, I know what y’all are thinkin. You’re all, “Oh God, no! Is that some kind of a devil dog or somethin?” Why yes, yes it is. I am the madcrazy Devil Dawg ™ and I’m comin to get yoooouuu! Hee!

Heh. Amber and Terry better WATCH IT now. See, my horns give me special powers. Special MAGIC powers – magic powers so secret that I can’t even tell ya or I’d havata kill every last one of you. OK I’ll tell you: it’s the power to drive Terry’s car. Every night I steal that baby and I go cruisin for french poodles.

Ha! I got you there, didn’t I? You were all, “hmmm, well, he does have horns, now… I dunno, maybe he can drive….” Of course I can’t freakin drive! I’m a DOG, fer crying out loud – what are you, stupid? Heh. Nah, actually it’s the power to eat cats whole. This week? Seven cats. That’s right – seven. I would say eight but the last one was kinda scrawny – kinda like the cat you can eat between meals without ruining your appetite, it wasn’t worth mentioning. Seven cats, though, I kid you not…

(Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post was written by him.)

Amber and Terry are MAD. They’re, like, totally obsessed with my PAWS. “Give me a paw,” they’ll say, a few times a day. I mean, why? What do they want my paw for? “Get your own paw,” I always feel like saying, but once I’ve handed over the paw they always make a big fuss of me, and sometimes I get a sweetie, so I put up with it. MAD, though.

And another thing: what’s with the whole “Sit – stand – lie down” routine that they keep making me go through? I mean, you don’t see me walking up to them and going, “Hi Terry – SIT”, do do? So why do they do it to me? Because they’re MAD, that’s why.

This week, Terry’s been bein’ particularly MAD. It’s like, he just got up one morning and he started wreckin the house, ripping up floors and stuff. I don’t know what rattled his cage, but alls I’m sayin is, I hope it wasn’t ME, you know? Because it’s his own fault that I peed on the washing machine YET AGAIN when They went to see “Gym” last week. I’m tryin to set a world record: Dog Who Has Peed on the Washing Machine Most Times. I’ll do it too, and they can’t even stop me. And if they want me to keep handin’ over my paws, like a “good boy”, they better not even try…

Rubin writes:

One of those days when they stand you on a TABLE and CUT OFF YOUR HAIRS! I couldn’t believe it. Well, actually, I could. I mean, I should have seen it coming. There’s been a number of comments made recently about my appearance – by Terry mainly. He’s very pass-remarkable, Terry. “Scruffy” is one word he’s been using. “Smelly” is another. I mean, I just ignored him and made sure to pee on his side of the bed whenever I could, but I should’ve know he’d be up to something.

Well, yesterday they BATHED me. I thought that was the end of it, but no. This morning Terry comes and gets me, and he’s actin’ all excited, like we’re going to be doin something cool… and then he stands me on a table and he CUTS OFF MY HAIRS.  Amber just sat there the whole time, patting me and offering me goodboys, but I just looked at her, like, “don’t you even touch me, traitor.”

So anyway, that’s me, HAIRLESS again. Again! Afterwards Amber gave me a JUMBONE and even Terry kept going on about how good I was and stuff – yeah, right- let’s stand YOU on a table and cut your hairs off with a sharp thing, and we’ll see how good YOU are, Terry. No, really, lets.  Honestly. At least that’s it over, though. I spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping and playing with my toys. And actually, it’s not so bad, this haircut thing. I mean, it’s like, it’s not like anyone could make the Rubinman look like a sissy now, is it?

5660735-f2c6c6ffc71c272e6fc655c27232c8d0_4a01e9ca-scaled

Rubin writes:

This is Ted. Now, I know what yoos are thinkin’. Yoos are all, “Great bear, Rubinman – orange is SO your colour!” The thing is, though, Ted is NOT a great bear. In fact, me and Ted, we don’t talk. We’re just not down with each other. Also: he’s totally mental.

Ted, you see, is Amber’s bear. Yes, Amber has a bear. I know! It’s like, how old is she, four? Actually, Amber is WAY old, and so is Ted. This makes Ted a bit of an ass, really, because he totally thinks he’s, like, IN CHARGE of all the toys in the house, you know? Also, he thinks he’s in charge of me, and that right there shows you how totally mental Ted is because NO ONE IS THE BOSS OF THE RUBINMAN.

Ted thinks he is, though. He’s been alive for as long as Amber, and Amber’s been alive since FOREVER, so he’s all, “Respect your elders, young Rubin me lad, waffle, waffle, waffle.” Idiot. I don’t even know why Amber has him, I really don’t, because it’s like, what does she DO with him? I haven’t ONCE seen Amber pick Ted up in her teeth and throw him around the room by the scruff of his neck, and that’s totally what I’d do with him. Then I’d throw him out the house and tell him to never show his sorry orange ass round here again. And he would listen because he would be scared of me.

Let this be a warning to all yoos orange-ass bears out there. For real.

RUBIN

(Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post was written by him.)

I’m in disgrace. Again. No one’s talking to me. They’re still feeding me (feeding me DOGFOOD) and taking me walks and stuff, but there’s definitely an “atmosphere”. It all seems to be stemming from The Cushions.

Last Saturday we went round to see my Norma and John, and Norma had growed two cushions. Amber decided to bring them home with us, and they’ve been living on the couch ever since. Amber kept looking at them and touching them and stuff, so naturally I took agin the pair of them.

Well. On Monday night, I go down the stairs and I see The Cushions. Well, I don’t need to tell you what happened. I was only down there on my own for a few minutes, but by the time They came down I had:

1) pulled one of the cushions off the couch
2) peed on it
3) Jumped onto the couch – the CREAM couch- with my muddy paws
4) left mud all over it
5) been out to the garden and collected more mud
6) brought it back into the house with me
7) put it all over the CUSHIONS

Amber went MENTAL. So did Terry, but he’s always mental. I got put in the Sin Bin for ten minutes. When I came out though, I bided my time then when they were out of the room I went and peed against the guitar that lives under the stairs. Amber didn’t find out until the next morning, and by then she hadn’t caught me in the act, so she couldn’t give me a row. Hee!

The next day I dug me a hole. It’s my best ever hole, I’m really quite proud off it. It’s a hole in the LAWN rather than in the dirt. GO me! Then I took Terry’s pen and burried it in the hole. They didn’t find it until the next day. How I laughed! That night I secretly peed against the guitar again. Sometimes I amaze even myself…

(Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post was written by him.)

I ate a SPIDER.

It was in the kitchen, walking along the floor. I was like, “the floor belongs to ME, buddy”, but it ignored me so I STALKED it. I stalked it like a TIGER, and then, when it was least expecting it, I POUNCED and caught it in my mouth. Then I ate it. It’s in my BELLY now, which is a bit weird really, but still – I’M the pet in this house, anything else that tries to come into my territory, whether it be fat kids or spiders, gets it.

Sooo, not a lot happening. The thing that’s really bothering me right now is the “teevee”. Now, I had never really paid the “teevee” any mind before. It’s more Terry’s thing than mine; he’ll sit and stare at it for HOURS, but I always just figured that was because Terry’s just a big bag o’ lazy. But then the other night it was on, and I noticed that there were some tiny dogs trapped inside it…

Well. I ran over and put my paws on it, barking to frighten them. Sure enough, they skeddadled – they were terrified. They ran right out the back of the “teevee”, but when I ran round the back myself to get them, they were gone?

I was puzzled. Since then I haven’t been able to get those tiny dogs out of my head. Where did they come from? How did they get there? And, most importantly, where did they GO? I’ve noticed there are tiny people trapped in there as well. Like, how WEIRD is that?!

Anyway, tiny dogs aside, not a lot to report, except that today they BATHED me. (Amber and Terry did, I mean, not the tiny dogs. If the tiny dogs had bathed me that really WOULD have been weird…)That’s the second time in two weeks. They’re saying it’s because it’s “winter” now and I keep getting muddy. Yeah, well, I been diggin’ me a hole. Been up to my neck in mud every night this week, and what thanks to I get for it? They BATH me. Huh.

Rubin writes…

GOD. My life is SO hard right now, let me tell you. I’m like, stressed to the MAXX here, you know what I mean? Seriously, I’m “run ragged”. I’m, like, up at 7am every morning to get in some solid barking time before breakfast, then once They’re up, I have to totally beg ALL DAY for food. ALL DAY, people. Yes, the Rubinman is a beggar. I know! SO unfair and you might say thet hey, They would probably feed me anyway, even if I didn’t beg, but, it’s like, how can I take that risk? So I beg all day, then I have to take Amber for a walk, and then I have to beg some more for TREATS.

No one understands how hard it is being me. It’s like, you know that song what the Beatles wrote? The one where they’re all “Oooh, it’s been a hard days night and I’ve been working like a DOG”? Yeah, right, sure yoos have. Nancy boys wouldn’t know a hard day’s night if a hard day’s night came right up to them and BIT THEM ON THE BUMs. And as for workin’ like a dog, it’s like, yoos come and swap places with the Rubinman for ONE DAY, John, Paul, George and Ringo, THEN we’ll talk, hmmm’kay?

Rubin writes…

I killed the postman yesterday. Don’t listen to what Amber says: that postman? He dead. Seriously, dudes, he may not have died on the spot, but I could tell by the terrified look in his eyes that as soon as he staggered home he woulda just dropped down dead. There’ll be no more poking bits of paper through the Rubinman’s door, that’s for sure. Not on my watch.

I mean, I didn’t plan to kill the postman. I was just, like, out enjoying my walk, as you do, when The Enemy came into view. Well, I seen my chance, I took it. It’s what we wolves do. You can’t blame a dude for followin his primal instinct.

So,one Enemy down, a few thousand to go. I’ll be waiting for yoos, postmen… Come and geeeeet me!

Rubin writes…

People, I stand before you, an accused man, accused of a crime I… well, OK, I DID commit, but seriously – I’m angry. And trust me, given the wolf blood that runs in my veins, you do NOT want to see the Rubinman angry, no you do not.

And my accuser? Why, it’s none other than my very own Terry. Who has attacked me here, in my very own blawg. Did you ever hear the like?! His accusations are as follows:

1. That I did wake Them up with my barking at 6am.
Yep, that was me, I dun it. Guilty as charged, your honour. But one thing you forgot to mention, Terry, is WHY I was barking at 6am. BECAUSE I HAD CRAPPED ON THE SPARE ROOM FLOOR AND I WANTED YOU TO GET IT WHILE IT WAS FRESH, that’s why. I mean, do you know how much trouble I went to to pull that one off? You were having one of those “deadlines” you sometimes get, so you were stlll up at 3am. I had to GO OUT at that time and, like, pretend to go about my business, but ACTUALLY hold it in so I could do it later, on the floor. And I did. And I’d do it again. So who looks stupid now, huh Terry? HUH?

2. That I did crap down my own leg.
Yeah, yeah, OK, I did that too. GOD, what is this, the Spanish inquisition or something? And don’t try and tell me you’ve never crapped down your own leg, Terry, we all know you’re lying. Let he who has never crapped down his own leg throw the first stone, that’s what I always say.

3. That I did play “Let’s Hide Under the Bed for No Reason” multiple times
OK, first of all? It’s not called ‘Let’s Hide Under the Bed for No Reason’, it’s called ‘Terry’s A Big Fat Dumbass, and He Knows He Is’, and you would KNOW that if you took the time to PLAY THE GAME WITH ME rather than just staring at the stupid computer box all the time. And I mean, what can I say? I like it when you chase me. I like seeing the look on your face when you realise that, once again, the Rubinman is under the bed and you can’t get him out because he’s TOO QUICK FOR YOU, Terry. Ha! Can’t touch this!

Now, I know you’re probably also going to want to bring up the  issue of What Happened Last Night, so  I’ll just address that one too. Yes, I crapped on two beds. Both sides, top AND bottom. That’s pretty much THREE layers of bedding crapped on. (And by the way, a little bit of credit would be nice, no?). And yeah, yeah, I topped it off with a bit of a pee. SO? They were MY BEDS to pee on – mine. Not yours, so I don’t know why you got all snarky about it. Anyway, it was raining yesterday. The Rubinman doesn’t like the rain, you know that. When it rains I just PRETEND to go out to do my business. Then I come back in and crap in the house. BIG DEAL. Get over it, Terry. Or I’ll do it again tonight. Hee!

Ha! I stick my tounge out at you, Terry. I lick my own nose while I’m at it. Can YOU lick your own nose, Terry? Ha! Didn’t think so…

Rubin

Rubin writes….

We have new people next door. There’s some guy who looks like Harry Potter, and there’s a fat kid who’s scared of me. Hee! I mean, I can’t blame him really – I can be quite terrifying until you get to know me. You only have to look at me. Anyway, as soon as they moved in I went into the back garden and barked at them, let them know who’s boss. It’s best they start off knowing there’s a WOLF next door…

So anyways, took Amber for a quick walk at lunchtime today because quite frankly she could be doing with the exercise, but god, what a nightmare…

We got to the end of the street. Everything was fine, Amber was safely attached to the string-thing, I’m having a good smell of everything. On the corner of the street was a van. In the driver’s seat of the van was a dog. A HUGE dog. It was, like, the size of a BEAR or something. Well, as soon as it seen me, it went for me. It was barking, slobbering, throwing itself against the window, everything. What a freakin CLOWN! Hee! It obvioulsy felt really threatened by me, which is understandable, I mean, you only need to look at me…

Anyway, I may not know much, but I know that dogs who drive VANS are bad news. To start with I was like, “bring it on pal”, but I had to think about Amber – I mean, I’d have happily taken it on, but Amber would have been scared (in fact, she looked quite scared anyway) so I did the only thing I could do in the circumstances – I turned and RAN. I turned and ran right into a WALL.

God, how embarrassing. I’m sure that freakin idiot was LAUGHING at me. Anyway, I managed to get Amber the hell out there, but our walk was ruined. Then it started to rain, so we went home. Amber was all, “oooh, Rubin, you were so brave, you’re a good boy!” I was like, “whatever.” But it was true.

Rubin writes…

The Pepe bit Amber. I couldn’t BELIEVE it! “Pepe, man,” I said, “the first rule of fight club is you NEVER bite Amber, for hers is that hand that feeds you.” He was all, “hello, pretty boy!” so I don’t think he was listening. He says that ALL the time, though. I mean, you should see him with Terry! He’s ALL OVER him. Terry’s like, “Where’s my darlin’?” and the Pepe goes, “hello pretty boy!” It’s SICK if you ask me. Then Terry lets the Pepe sit on his shoulder, like he’s some kind of crazy pirate or something. MENTAL.

Speaking of things that are MENTAL, I peed in my bed last week and Amber hit the roof. It wasn’t my fault, though – the Pepe made me do it. He was getting all the attention that was rightfully mine. I just did what I had to do, and by god, I’d do it again!

Anyway, not long after The Biting, the Pepe went away. Now, I’m not sayin that the two incidents were connected, but, like, they totally were!

Buh-bye lubbish Pepeman! We all know you really went away because the Rubinman scared you! Ha!

Rubin writes…

Basically, I’ve been barking like a madman EVERY SINGLE morning. I start about half an hour before A&T normally get up, and I WILL NOT STOP until they haul ass out of bed and come and play with me. It’s driving them absolutely CRAZY. If they try and get up earlier, in an effort to thwart me, I just work out what the new time is and start barking half an hour before THAT. The way things are going, they’d need to get up at 5.30am to beat me just now. Hee!

The thing is – they CAN’T ignore me. I mean, they’ve TRIED – don’t think they haven’t. But it’s like, would YOU be able to ignore the scary wolf that was barkin at YOUR door? Remember what happened to Little Red Riding Hood’s ol grandma before yoos answer that one…

I particularly like doing it on a Saturday morning, when Amber’s been working all week and is thinking she can get to sleep late. “Aaaamblller!” I shout. “Teeeerrreee! Doggie crap in here for you to clean up! Come and geeeet it while it’s hot!” Then they come thundering down the stairs, all bleary-eyed and wild-haired to scold me, and I’m like, “What? Me? Barking? No, I wasn’t barking. Are you sure you’re feeling OK? It’s just, you’re looking a bit tired. Maybe you should try and get some more sleep?” Hee!

Rubin writes….

Heh. Just when I thought it was safe to go back into the garden, he’s back – The Fat Kid From Next Door (TFKFND). And this time he has a Fat Friend…

I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t seen him for ages, but there I was, finishing off my dinner in the kitchen, when I hear all this screaming coming from Next Door. Being the guard dog that I am, I went to investigate of course, and there they were. Back. Now, I wasn’t looking for trouble here. I was annoyed, yes, but I just gave a couple of quick warning barks, just to let them know that a dangerous WOLF was on the scene. Well. They retaliated.

I think the presence of the Fat Friend must’ve made TFK brave. He started shouting at me, and clapping his hands to try and scare me away. (I know – he was trying to scare me, the Rubinman. Like, good luck with that pal – you obviously haven’t heard the story of Rubin and the Bad Man). Then he started hitting the fence, cheered on by the other one. They were both carrying guns. Well, that was it – that just made me MAD.

Of course, what they hadn’t realised was that Amber had been watching all of this, and when they started with the fence she came out to glare at them. I was expecting them to shut up at that, but no – Fat Friend decided to give Amber “attitude.” He walked over to where she was standing and started making faces at her through the fence, while TFK watched him. What the porky pals hadn’t realised though was that while they were busy making prats of themselves to Amber, the Rubinman had cunningly snuck under the bushes next to where they were standing – as cunning as a FOX. I waited there silently until I was sure they hadn’t seen me. Then I let out the BIGGEST bark of my career.

Hee! The Fat Friend nearly peed his pants he got such a fright! He actually stumbled backwards – then TFK started taking the crap out of him for being scared of me, so I barked again, and they BOTH jumped! Hee! Then Amber and I came back into the house and laughed our asses off. It was really quite satisfying, and it got me back into Amber’s good books again – I had fallen out of favour earlier that day because just before she made me my dinner I had sneaked up to the bathroom and peed up against a white towel that was hanging there. Well, who hasn’t done that?

Anyway, I certainly taught them a lesson. They won’t be back in a hurry, that’s for sure.

Wolf

Rubin writes…

So, by now Amber has probably been totally whinin’ it up over at her blawg, all, “OMG, Rubin totally vomited all over his bed and we had to buy him a new one, oh poor us, having to clean up all the vomit.” I mean, am I right?

Well, here’s the truth of the matter: I just wanted a new bed. And I got one, too. Alls I had to do was, like, totally regurgitate my dinner all over my old bed. It was, like, totally amazing, I mean, I wish you coulda seen it. Because, it’s like, it kind of surprised even me, you know? One minute I was having me a bit of a lie down after dinner, next minutes I’m staring that SAME DINNER in the face ALL OVER AGAIN.

Well, it didn’t take me long to realise that I was onto a winner with this one. I was all, “If I can keep on doin this, I can totally keep on eating my dinner OVER AND OVER AGAIN. Like, I could eat my dinner all day? This will give you just a small idea of how totally clever I am, but trust Killjoy Terry to put a stop to all the fun. He was all, “No, Rubin, you can’t eat your own vomit,” and then he cleaned it all up and everything, so what I did was, I threw up again, only this time I did it on one of their cushions. Then I did It AGAIN, but – and this was a total masterstroke – I did it ON THEIR BED. Hee! God, it was hilarious, you should have seen Amber’s face!

After that I didn’t feel too good. I think I might have overstretched myself, you know? So I bided my time, and sure enough, next thing I know, it’s the next day, and we’re down at Pets at Home, pickin’me up a new bed. Of course, I went for the most totally outrageous bed in the shop: it’s like, all red leather, and its got this white furry cushion on it. It’s a real KINGLY bed, you know? Like, a bachelor pad bed? A kinda “Come back to my place and see my Goodboys kinda bed”. This is it:

They’re calling it a “belated burfday present” – I call it “yet another triumph of Rubinman over Humans). Also: because it’s red, it matches my RED COAT. That, you know, I don’t even WEAR, obviously, on account of me bein’ a WOLF. Rarrr.

Anyway, they gives me the bed, and I has a bit of a think to myself, and I was like, “I think I’m going to mix things up a bit here, see if I can’t set me a new kinda record or somethin.” So what I did was, I waited until it was, like, WAY early in the morning, then I crapped all over that stupid bed of mine. Hee! So, I totally got me my record: that bed had only been in our house for a matter of hours -HOURS, I tells ya- and I had already totally crapped on it, and it had ALREADY been washed and everything. Now I don’t got no red leather bed, because I’ve got to wait for the furry cushion thing to dry, but it’s like, it’s OK, because there’ll be somthin else I can pee on tonight. Like, probably the washing machine, or somethin.

Smell yas,
Rubin

(Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post was written by him.)

Amber and Terry are MAD. They’re, like, totally obsessed with my PAWS. “Give me a paw,” they’ll say, a few times a day. I mean, why? What do they want my paw for? “Get your own paw,” I always feel like saying, but once I’ve handed over the paw they always make a big fuss of me, and sometimes I get a sweetie, so I put up with it. MAD, though.

And another thing: what’s with the whole “Sit – stand – lie down” routine that they keep making me go through? I mean, you don’t see me walking up to them and going, “Hi Terry – SIT”, do do? So why do they do it to me? Because they’re MAD, that’s why.

This week, Terry’s been bein’ particularly MAD. It’s like, he just got up one morning and he started wreckin the house, ripping up floors and stuff. I don’t know what rattled his cage, but alls I’m sayin is, I hope it wasn’t ME, you know? Because it’s his own fault that I peed on the washing machine YET AGAIN when They went to see “Gym” last week. I’m tryin to set a world record: Dog Who Has Peed on the Washing Machine Most Times. I’ll do it too, and they can’t even stop me. And if they want me to keep handin’ over my paws, like a “good boy”, they better not even try…

(Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post is by him.)

It’s come to my attention that Amber and Terry seem to be expecting me to pee outside ALL THE TIME. I mean, not just the occasional alfresco pee, we’re talking all outside, all the time i.e. I NEVER get to pee in the house ever again.

Reasons for me thinking this:

1. When I go outside I get called a “good boy” and I normally get a little something for my trouble, like a sweetie or something
2. When I go INSIDE I get the whole “baaaaad boy” thing and they give me NOTHING

Does anyone else think this is just NOT FAIR?

 

They don’t pee in the garden. I’ve never once seen Them pee in the garden. They always use the bathroom. Always. I use the bathroom, what happens? “Baaaad boy”. *Sigh* I don’t think this is even ABOUT where I pee. I think it’s pretty much a case of “two legs good, four legs ‘baaaad’.” I think you see where I’m going with this.

Well I’m not backing down, sweetie or no sweetie. Yesterday morning, while Amber was drying her hair, I crept into the bathroom and crapped on the floor. Heeee!

And another thing, just while I’m on the subject of the bathroom: why is it “cute” when the Andrex puppy unravels a whole toilet roll, but why I do it it’s suddenly NOT?
*disgusted*

Rubin writes….

So, after last week’s video, some of yoos wrote to me to say yoos were all worried about me n’ my “loneliness”. Let me just say here and now, the Rubinman is NOT lonely. Not when he has his main man Almeida in the house, anyway…

(NOTE: Parental advisory! Some scenes may not be suitable for small chhildren!)

So, this morning I came home from the gym and found that Rubin had been using my computer while I was gone.  Specifically, Photoshop:

Rubin's message to Amber

Rubin’s message to Amber

Rubin, if you’re reading this: that’s very sweet, but knock it off, OK?
(Also: we’ve just finished moving Rubin’s blog from Typepad to WordPress, so you may notice some changes to the template etc while we’re getting to grips with it. Rubin’s been pretty lazy recently and hasn’t been bothering to update much, but I’ve told him he has to work for his living here, so hopefully he’ll get back to blogging soon.)

(Rubin is the dog with the blog. This post was written by him.)

Actually, let’s not be modest here, folks. I don’t just BELIEVE I can fly: I KNOW I can fly. Lookit:

SEE? I can totally fly. Like Superman, only better.

SEE? I can totally fly. Like Superman, only better.

Just in case yoos are wonderin’, no Terry is not helping me in this picture. Ha, like he even could! Terry wouldn’t know how to fly if a book called HOW TO FLY came and bit him on the ass. It’s just me what can do it. Yes, your Rubinman has superpowers! Other superpowers I’ve got: ability to pee on the washing machine more often than you would believe possible, barking at the kind of pitch that would make you deaf, saving the world.  Yoos can thank me later for that last one. For now,  just know that the Rubinman is here, watching over yoos. In fact, when you go to sleep at night, I am hovering over your bed JUST LIKE IN THE PICTURE.

I bet yoos are all totally freaked out now, no? Don’t worry, I know it’s not every day you see a flying WOLF and all, but rest assured that the Rubinman uses his superpowers for good rather than evil. Most of the time.

Laters,

Rubin

Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post was written by him…

I had been stalking the water bottle for some time. Watching. Waiting. Every time she put it down, I’d be there. I learned its routines, studied its weaknesses. I knew it would take time, but I had time.  And so I waited. I, the hunter; it, the totally hunted. I knew the time would come when I would pounce on that water bottle and take it back to my lair, where I would proceed to tear it apart in the most brutal way possible.

Today was that day. I saw my opportunity, and I took it:

Then I runned away and hid:

Don’t think Amber was very pleased, somehow. But still, you know what they say: you can please some of the people some of the time, and the rest are idiots, who shoulda kept a closer watch on their water bottles already.

Smell yas,

RUBIN

Alternative title: ‘How to Ruin Amber’s Outfit Shots: a dog’s guide’. This is a guest post by Rubin: enjoy!

Yo, homies, it’s Rubin here. Amber told me some of yoos was missing my “blawg”, and I was like, “Yoos better believe they’ll be missing my blawg. It’s not every day yoos get to hear from a real live WOOLF.” So here I am, live an’ unleashed. (Do you see what I did there? I, like, totally WAS unleashed in these photos. I crack myself up, I really do.)

Anyways, last week I took Them for a walk. They were all, like, takin stupid piktures and stuff for Amber’s shoo blawg (if there’s something more pointless than a blawg about shoos, by the way, I don’t know what it is. Shoos are just big chew toys, get over it.)? And I was all, “I wonder if there’s a way I could make this all about me?” And there WAS a way. And I found it.

Note: Some of yoos may find the following images disturbing, as they all show a really scary woolfman. Parental discretion is advised. Norma and John, don’t yoos look either, it’ll scare the pants off yoos.

Step One: Insert self into all piktures. ALL piktures. Try to look like a crazy dog if yoo can. (Note: I totally CAN.)

“Oh, sorry, Amber, am I in your shot? My bad.”

(If yoos could see my face in close-up in this one, you’d see the drool flying off my FANGS. I’m not going to show yoos it, though, cos yoos would, like, crap yourselves?)

After I completed step one, I was like, “I’ve started, so I’ll finish. I might as well just continue with the Being Terrifying.”

STEP 2: BE TERRIFYING

Yeah, I told you. Sometimes I scare even myself. And then I can’t sleep at night cos I’m like, “OMG, who is that scary woolf in the room?” Then I’m like, “Whew, it’s ME, haha.”

I can also run faster than the speed of light. That’s why I’m a bit blurry in this pickture, see? By the time you see me, I’m already miles away.

“Ooh, hai, lookit me! I’m Amber! I’m taking piktures for my shoo blawg! Because that’s not stupid.”

Terry tried to take one of them dumb “shadows” piktures. So I stood on his stupid head.

After that I rolled in something bad, and They took me home and put me in the shower. They’ve always got to ruin stuff, haven’t They?

No one puts Rubinman in the corner.

(OK, one time Terry put me in the corner. I bit his face off, though.)

Smell yas,

RUBIN

A guest post, by Rubinman….
OK. I wasn’t going to say anything, because I didn’t really think it was my bizniss, but here’s the thing: Amber tells lies. Yes, she does. I mean, she’s not actually some red haired “blogger” girl, like claims. She’s an old, fat, bald guy from Essex. In fact, her name isn’t even Amber: it’s Clive.

Most of the time, I just let Clive get on with it. I’m like, “Whatevs, dude, yoo just keep on wearin’ the shoos and the ginger wig if it makes yoos happy, and we’ll see how long yoos get away with it.” Like I says, not my bizniss. But then, sometimes Amber Clive goes and MAKES it my bizniss, by writing about me in her “blawg”, and when that happens, well, the Rubinman gets MAD. Yoos won’t like it when the Rubinman is MAD, trust me.

So, just to set the record straight: that ” ooh, Rubin was sooooo scared of Terry’s costume, he ran away and hid like a big scaredy cat !” post? Yeah, like THAT would happen. Seriously, NUTHING scares the Rubinman. NUTHING. And Terry doesn’t scare ANYWUN. I mean, dude’s creepy and all, but he’s no Michael Flately, if you know what I mean, and I think yoos do:

Oh, hai, I’m Michael Flately. Fear me.

When I ran and got onto Clive’s knee that day, I was totally protecting her. Because Clive is a wuss, you know? So I was just like, “Don’t worry, Clive, your trusty woolf is here to save the day!” And what thanks do I get? LIES. That’s whut I get.

Also, the whole “Rubin totally wore a blonde wig this one time” thing? Uh-uh. Let’s just say Photoshop is an amazing thing, OK? Actually, let’s not: let’s just say that was a totally different dog in them piktures. Because it was. In fact, it wasn’t a dog at all, it was a WOOLF. It was this woolf, aktually:

Oh, hai, I’m a woolf. I look just like Rubin, no?

It was in sheep’s clothing at the time. They totally do that sumtimes. I got it to sign a statement, though, saying it was the wun in the wig. Here it is:

“Hello, it’s a big scary woolf here. I’m writing this just to let yoos know it was me in the wig that time, not Rubin. Rubin is too tuff to wear a wig. We woolfs are all scared of him, we wear wigs to disguise ourselves. Also, Clive tells lies.

love,
A Woolf”

So, there yoos go, case closed. Don’t listen to Clive. Rubin is the only wun yoos can trust.

Smell yas,

RUBIN

Oh, Clive. Like you could ever catch the Rubinman…

LETTIS!!!!  OMGLETTIS!!!!!!!!!  BRING IT!!!!!!

OK, then, DON’T bring it. I’ll just bring ME to IT instead. If the lettis won’t come to the Rubinman, why, the Rubinman must go to the lettis. LETTTIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I pray to the Mighty Lettis God. What do you ask of your humble servant, oh Lettis God?


OMG LETTIS FROM HEAVEN! Prayers WURKED!


COME to Rubin…

HA.


Lettis is mine. Now it will do my bidding. Like… I will make lettis levitate!


Styupid lettis.

 

[Photos by Terry. Thanks, Terry!]

(Amber’s note: Rubin likes lettuce. And almost all vegetables, to be honest. And also all other forms of food. And sometimes things that aren’t actually food. Like that spider he ate that one time. But lettuce! Is not harmful to dogs, as long as they’re not eating too much of it, which he isn’t. Spiders, on the other hand…)

Rubinman

Yo homies, Rubinman in da house, s’up? It’s been a long time since yoos last heard from me, but Amber’s “busy” today, so I’m all up in her blawg, to tell yoos about something that happened to me this week. Trust me, after yoos read this, yoos’ll be all, “Amber who? We wants the Rubinman to write the blawg from now on!” And yoos’ll be right.

Anyways, so it’s Monday lunchtime and I’m in the living room watching the “teevee” when Terry walks in with this box.

“Noo shooz!” sez Amber, jumping up off her seat. “Sumwun sent me noo shooz!”

But nope, for once that box didn’t contain shooz for Amber. That box was all for the Rubinman. It’s like, apparently the peoples at John Lewis decided to send me a gift, to, like, reward me for being all over the internets all the time or sumthin’? And I was like, “It’s about time I got sumthin out of Amber’s stupid blawg.” I mean, she’s been exploiting me for YEARS now, using my piktures to drive up her “hits”. She would deny it, but we all knows it’s true, because why else would anywun come here if it wasn’t for me?

Anyways, the box woulda been exciting enuff on its own, but Terry opens it, and it turns out its full of STUFF. First thing outta the box was this dude:

chikkin

It’s a chikkin. I mean, Amber, she sez it’s really a duck, but I think I know a chikkin when I sees one?

“Who yoo callin’ a chikkin?” sez the duck.

“Well, I don’t see anywun else around here, so I guess it must be yoo, chikkin,” sez the Rubinman.

And then me n’ the chikkin fought to the death, and I totally wun.

totally fake photo, not even real

Next outta the box came a squeaky bone:

squeaky bone

Man, I luv a squeaky bone, I really do. I coulda squeaked that bad boy all day, except I couldn’t have, because next out of the box came THIS:

big brown thing

I call this “The Big Brown Thing”. I call it that becoz it’s big, and also it’s brown. Yoos can see why I’m better than Amber at this whole “blawg” bizniss, can’t you? Now, I don’t like to play favourites with my toys, except I totally DO, and The Big Brown Thing is now my favourite toy of all the toys. Becoz, it’s like, yoo can chew it to death, and you don’t even get a row or anything. Allow me to demonstrate:

Rubin

I know, I’m really scary. I hope yoos don’t have nightmares after this.

So, after I’d had my fun, it was time for Amber to have hers:

CLOTHES

CLOTHES.

So, yeah, I’m wearin a tweed “harness”, and also I’m wearin a little bow tie. I’m also wearin quite a lot of DIRT from my walk I had just been on. Now, I know what yoos are thinkin. Yoos are thinkin:

a) Can this dog TAKE a bad photo, seriously?

b) Pink stripes? Bit sissy, no?

In response to that:

a) Yoos are right about this wun: the camera luvs me, what can I say?

b) Yoos are wrong about that wun, though, because pink stripes luv me too. For reals.

bow-tie

Rubin's bow tie

What I also got was, I got sum dog treats (LUV THEM), and I got some shampoo, which, like, I’m totally pretending doesn’t exist, because where there’s shampoo there’s also a baff, and I stick my tongue out at baffs. Literally, I mean:

Rubin's treats

No wun puts Rubinman in the baff. Except Terry and Amber, and sumtimes other people.

Anyways, that’s me shown you all my STUFF, so gotta bounce. Smell yas later,

RUBIN

[Note from Amber: Thanks to John Lewis for providing Rubin with these treats: he was very appreciative, and I’m sure we’ll ALL be appreciative of the shampoo once we actually give him that bath! If you want to buy any of these for your own wolf, you can find them here. There are more posts from Rubin, meanwhile, here.]