Illustration and Art by Shade

Pictures of the dog : Baby 1 : Baby2 : Baby 3

Things people say about Fergus:

"That's a skinny dog." - Some Kid

"He looks anorexic" - My Neighbor.

"Greyhounds look like tiny horses for goblins." - Matt Mace

"He's a futuristic space rat." - Me

"He's a little weasel." - Serene

"Why's he eating lint? - Everybody asks this question. I really don't know the answer.

"Is he going to get any bigger?" - Again everyone asks this question. The answer is no.

"He's nothing but connective tissue." - Tom Jones (not that Tom Jones.)

"You can see right through him." - Jules (Actually this is kind of true.)

This is my dog Fergus. He kicks butt, but he doesn't take names.

Why?

He doesn't have thumbs so he can't hold a pencil.

Fergus is a 45 mile per hour couch potato, a.k.a. an Italian Greyhound. Here he is doing one of his favorite things sitting in a chair, getting ready to sleep. He sleeps. He sleeps a lot. He likes to sleep next to me in bed, or on the couch and gradually push me into a corner or off to the edge of the bed. When not sleeping Fergus is generally bouncing off the walls and furniture trying to get my attention, generally while I am trying to work. (Like he is right now.)

Everybody says Fergus looks like me, this is kind of true, but he actually looks more like my best friend here, Matt Mace.

Matt Mace

A Poem...
He leaps through the yard like a gracefull gazelle,
A scent in the air, he catches the smell,
He zeros in, and finds the spot,
Head to the ground, he'll never stop.

A happier creature there never was,
Rolling in dead things just because,
Sometimes in the front yard, and always in back,
Things that smell bad are under attack.

I'll say he's a cute pup, and I wouldn't tell lies,
With those whimsical ears and curious eyes,
A short tan coat, and smooth white belly,
But damn that dog is awfully smelly.

Compared to other pups he's pretty hip,
If you're lucky he'll give you the Elvis lip,
But before another nose suffers the wrath,
Please Phil please...give your dog a bath!

A Poem...part 2
In the yard again, he rolls around,
Enjoying the filth that's on the ground,
Like a four-legged sponge he soaks it up,
Nothing will stop this dirty pup.

Chewing on sticks, he lays on the grass,
Until he gets bored and licks his ass,
But he sees you coming, and wants to play,
And like most dogs, he'll get his way.

You'll pick up the ball, and throw it far,
He'll race after it, like a speeding car,
When you've had enough, and think you're through,
That's when he'll chase after you.

You might be fine if you stand your ground,
But if you're not looking, he'll knock you down,
Once on your knees, and level with him,
That's when this pup's fun begins.

Don't laugh too hard, and don't look back,
This dog's game is about attack,
He'll get up real close, before you can blink,
And then he'll rub on you the stink.

To describe it mildly, it's most unpleasant,
But he shares it like it's a special present,
As foul odor envelopes you like a fog,
you think...
Please Phil please....bathe your dog!

:Both odes to a stinking little pup are brought to you by PMHRH: