Alex Terrgi here. Here’s something humans don’t seem to know: dogs like worms. They are little chewy bites of goodness that tickle your throat on the way down. Today I found one in our back yard, underneath the patio, and I ate him. Then my human yelled at me for eating dirt.

This is not the first time she yelled about eating dirt. I know because my now-dead sister Goody Beagle told this story a few years ago:

Goody Beagle here. Today I dug a hole at the dog park. My human doesn’t like me digging holes, but that’s because she can’t smell anything. Sometimes there’s a smell coming from way underneath the dirt, and my curiosity gets the better of me. I’ve got to find out what is making that smell. Today it was a fat juicy worm, and I ate him. Then my human yelled at me to stop eating dirt. Sheesh.

Sheesh is right. Worms and dirt are not the same.


Alex Terrgi here. The other day I went to the dog park with my friend Jackie MuttMix. At least she’s usually my friend – when we’re at my house or her house we play a lot. Rough-house is what our humans call it, cuz we bite each others’ necks and stuff like that. But it’s all in good fun no matter how much we growl. If humans would learn our language maybe they’d know that.

But I digress. (Big word for a mere dog, right? See, we learn your language.) Back to me and Jackie at the dog park. It was a sunny day, so there were lots of dogs of all sizes and colors at the park. The minute we arrived, my “friend” Jackie forgot she was my friend and went off to play with a lab named Tucker. She ignored me completely and I was stuck playing with Dribble Schnauzer (his name tells you everything you need to know about him.)

So much for friends.


Alex Terrgi here. I don’t know why humans are so fond of creating new dog clans. Puggles and Labradoodles and Goldendoodles and I don’t know what all. It sounds like they’ve been reading too much Harry Potter.

My human says I am a “Terrgi” which is a name she made up because she doesn’t know what breed I am, because when I was a very young dog I ran away without my papers (whatever they are) and lived on the streets until the Humane Society captured me, then my human rescued me. Anyway, the humans don’t know my breed and this seems to bother them for some reason.

So my human decided to tell people I was a Terrgi just because she thought I looked like a cross between a Jack Russell Terrier and a corgi. Maybe I do, but why is that important? This whole breed thing is stupid. Why do humans have to put creatures in categories?

I am who I am. Terrgi or Whatever, it’s all the same to me.

The Human Park

Alex Terrgi here. I took my human to the park today. It’s not a dog park, where dogs get to run around wherever they want. It’s a human park, which means us dogs have to wear leashes. Still, it has good smells and also other dogs. Some of the dogs are friendly, some are barkers, some are smellers, and some seem to have murder in their hearts.

A Labrador named Dublin was there, and he made a big fuss because his human wouldn’t let him jump in the pond after a duck. A big fuzzy dog named Enormo was at the park too, but we didn’t get too close to her, which was fine with me. Even though she was on the other side of the pond from us, I could still smell her, and she smelled pretty angry. Also her slobber trailed behind her for miles (I swear) and I could feel the earth shake when she walked. I’m pretty sure she would have smashed me if we got too close.

The dog I liked best was a Beagle named Betsy. She reminded me of my dear departed fur-sister Goody, and I have always liked beagles. They are the best smellers around. Betsy alerted me to the smell of rabbits, who evidently frequent the park at night.

Nothing smells like rabbits except rabbits. I like rabbits. Even better than squeaky toys. Maybe next time we go to the Human Park the rabbits will show themselves in the day time and I won’t have to wear a leash, and then … well, I can dream, can’t I?


Mr. Snaky’s Demise

Alex Terrgi here. Coughing up green stuff may not mean what you think it means. It doesn’t always mean pneumonia. Sometimes it just means you chewed your soft and squeaky toy, who you lovingly called Mr. Snaky while he still had his squeakers, into tiny green bits of fluff, most of which you spit out on the rug for the vacuum cleaner, but some of which went down your throat and got stuck there. Until you coughed.

So don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. If you want to worry, worry about Mr. Snaky. I don’t think he’s going to make it.

The Rub and Roll

Alex Terrgi here. My life is pretty good. Sometimes it’s so good I have to do a rub and roll on the rug. So I go to the living room where there is a cushy rug that smells like a happy dog, and I roll around on it until there is even more happiness rubbed into it.

Although my human doesn’t seem to see the happiness – all she sees is hair. I feel so sorry for humans sometimes.


Toys Not Bones

Alex Terrgi here. I like toys that squeak when you bite them. They sound like I think mice or squirrels would sound if I could catch one. My human doesn’t like “squeakies” (that’s what she calls them) because she says they hurt her ears. So she gives me these things she calls “bones” except they’re not real bones, just pretend ones. I want a squeaky toy!

My human writes poems she calls haiku. She seems to like them, so I thought of a haiku just for her. Here it is:

give your dog a toy
dogs get bored just like you
chew your own bones

So there.

Math and Dogs

Alex Terrgi here. Despite what humans think, dogs can do math. We can count. Let me illustrate. Every morning after my human makes her disgusting swill called coffee, she reaches for the jar on the counter that says “Cookies” on it. (We can read, too.) The jar doesn’t contain human-type cookies, though. It contains dog cookies. So when my human reaches for the jar, I know she is going to give me something yummy.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but the word “cookies” absolutely means MORE THAN ONE COOKIE. When this morning ritual began, my human gave me two cookie treats from the jar every morning. Sometimes she even gave me three. (See, I told you dogs can count.) But recently she has cut back on the cookies. Nowdays I only get ONE! (Which is less than 3, also less than 2. More math.) This is not acceptable.

She says it’s for my own good. I don’t know where she gets her ideas.


Warm Nose

dog nose, close-up, front view,  29Alex Terrgi here. Yesterday my nose was warm. This makes my human nervous. She kept feeling my nose then shaking her head. Meanwhile all I wanted to do was sleep, and her continual nose-touching was kinda irritating. Even though I knew she meant well.

Today my nose is back to its usual temperature. Thank goodness. If it had stayed warm she might have decided to take me to that horrible awful no-good place called The Vet.

I think sleep is the answer to everything.


Cat litter box Alex Terrgi here. My human says everyone’s tastes are different, which makes her sound like she’s easy to get along with. But I know this is not always true.

Take her attitude toward one of my favorite things: cat poop. I love cat poop – its taste, its smell, its shape, its general wonderfulness. So rich, so meaty. It makes me happy to roll in it, lick it, swallow it. In my opinion it’s the best thing about cats.

I have no idea why my human does not approve. So much for tolerance.