A Visit to the Vet

I went to see the vet today. She wanted to take my temperature. She asked my humans to hold the dangerous end whilst she did her business. Little did she know that they chose the safe end. The end that she ended up with is currently far more dangerous than my cheeky chops. 


I went to the park this evening. I saw some ducks. I don’t completely understand ducks. So I left them alone. I saw some other dogs. We sometimes disagree with each other. I stood my ground. They stood theirs. We moved on. On the way home I met a cat. We ignored each other.

When I got home I watched the news on the TV. Humans. No wonder they need us to help them through life. 

My name is Morgan. I am a good boy.


My name is Morgan. I am a good boy. Even when I have the capacity to fill the lounge with a smell so obnoxious, toe-curling and eye-watering1 that it continually wakes me from my slumber and reduces my humans to tears2. I will definitely add this to my repertoire of tricks.

  1. Singular in my particular case. 
  2. I won’t mention the laughter3
  3. I’ve told you they were odd, haven’t I? 

I Dreamed a Dream

I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamt I’d been on a long car journey1.
I ended up in a house. With a garden. And a bed. And belly rubs.

And then I woke up.

And I was still there. In the house. With a Garden. And a bed. Perhaps it wasn’t a dream.

I’ve spent the day chillaxing2. Most of my day has been spent on a blanket in the living room. Being fussed and drifting off to dream the same dream.

Perhaps this is a dream. A dream come true.

  1. Just to make things clear, I wasn’t driving the car3
  2. Cats lounge. Dogs chillax
  3. The thought of me driving a car would be preposterous4
  4. After all, I have a significant visual impairment. 

My Name is.. Morgan?

Hello. My name is Tyson. That’s to say, I’m fairly sure my name was Tyson when I woke up this morning. And then.. Everything changed.

Today would have been the 330th day of my incarceration1 at Blackberry Farm. I’d almost given up on finding a forever home. Until.. The new humans came to visit me. And then.. They came to see me again. And then.. They took me home with them.

And now.. They keep calling me Morgan. I’m fairly sure that’s not my name. At least, I’m fairly sure it wasn’t this morning. Perhaps they’ve adopted the wrong dog? I think that’s highly doubtful given my devilishly handsome looks and abundant joie de vivre2. No, there must be some other reason. Perhaps they’re both mentally retarded? The tall, man-human certainly doesn’t look the full ticket3.

They’re probably getting me confused with Morgan Freeman, the actor. But never mind, I’ll go with the flow for the time being. I’ve got a new home. A new bed. A new garden. New humans4.

And.. A new name to go with a new start.

Getting used to a new name will probably take some time. Well, that’ll be my excuse for completely ignoring the humans when there’s something more interesting to sniff, or chew.

Apparently, I’m still a good boy. It’s good to see that some things don’t change.

  1. How else would you describe living in close proximity to cats? 
  2. Which, by all accounts, literally translates to joy of treats
  3. I’ll probably need to hide my treats from him. And his slippers. 
  4. Who’ll require breaking in.