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For Mum and Dad,
with love and thanks from both of us.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2007 by
Portico
10 Southcombe Street
London
W14 0RA
An imprint of Anova Books Company Ltd
Copyright Martin Howard, 2007
Illustrations copyright Tracy Hecht, 2007
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
First eBook edition published 2014
ISBN 9781909396678
Also available in hardback
ISBN 13 9781906032142
This book can be ordered direct from the publisher at
www.anovabooks.com, or try your local bookshop
JANUARY
Tuesday, January 1
New Years Day. Bow, but definitely not wow. My bladder was at breaking point by 8 a.m. while the Owner was comatose and smelled like an explosion in a brewery toilet, very tantalising to my ultrasensitive nose. Interestingly, the human muzzle has about five million scent receptors, right? Mine has 220 million, at least. I can pick up scents better than the most sensitive scientific equipment. Not that I need to around here. Not with his bowels being in such terrible shape.
![Anyway the usual barking and licking routine just made him curse roll over - photo 7](/uploads/posts/book/424769/Images/3-1.jpg)
Anyway, the usual barking and licking routine just made him curse, roll over and cover his head with a pillow, so what else could a poor crossbreed do but pee on his duvet? Even the zingy scent of fresh urine failed to wake him though, so I just barked for an hour or so until he finally crawled out of bed clutching his head, looking pale, ill and with his fur all over the place. They say that dogs start to look like their humans, but I damn well hope not. Its no wonder he cant get a bitch; looking like that I wouldnt touch him if he were covered in steak. But what a stroke of luck, he was muttering about something called tequila and wetting the bed at his age. A good start to the year at last! Although it wasnt strictly a welcome home moment, I treated him to the full works: some fine bass barking balanced with excited yapping in my upper register (Ive got an excellent range), just the right amount of tugging on his pyjamas and some boisterous jumping up; it was hard to see how it could be improved. One particularly graceful twisting leap from a stationary position allowed me to get my tongue right into his ear. Now thats a welcome!
After a frankly mediocre walk to the wasteland and back I decided that in the interests of caninehuman relations, and with a nod toward the quaint tradition of mans best friend, I would introduce a few concessions in my New Years Resolutions that might even pave the way toward some kind of entente cordiale if his own behaviour is good enough. So I settled down in front of the fire to think of some while he watched some terrible old movie on the TV. I farted a bit. So did he. Domestic bliss.
I call him Owner only because its more succinct than that guy who walks and feeds me. In this context it does not imply actual ownership or dominance. I am definitely the alpha male in this den.
Wednesday, January 2
Blakes New Years Resolutions
. Be a good better dog. If I lead by example there may be thaw in relations and maybe even a return on the investment in terms of longer walks, more and better food, fewer threats about that trip to the vet. This breaks down into sub-resolutions as set out here.
(i) Fetch paper, slippers, pipe, whatever . Not a chance.
(ii) My welcome home routine is pretty honed, but could become spectacular with a little more work, perfecting the jumping, licking, barking etc.
(iii) Quit chewing so much of his stuff (delicious hand-stitched, Italian leather shoes excepted of course).
(iv) Bring things back when thrown. It goes against my instincts to indulge him, and Marx would have said that the game of fetch is a physical reinforcement of the values of the ruling class. By constantly doing the bidding of the holder of the can opener the dog fixes himself within a hostile socio-political ideology. But, bless him, he does love it when I drop that little ball in his hand, and I am one thirty-second retriever. I think.
. Expand my territory in the Western Park. This will provide a beachhead into the East as far as the pond.
The empire will grow.
. Develop a mature and enlightened attitude to cats . Make cats suffer. Nasty little cats with their smug faces and washing.
. Stop kicking up an enormous fuss any time a bath is threatened.
. Stop jumping in every cold, muddy puddle, ditch or pond that I come across.
. Quit scooting. Though the sensation of rubbing ones posterior at speed along the ground is pure ecstasy, even Denny the Flea has the social grace to do it in private.
. Prevent Owner from becoming romantically attached. The last thing we need is another human female cleaning the place up and complaining about the doggy smell.
![The Bad Dogs Diary - image 9](/uploads/posts/book/424769/Images/4-1.jpg)
Thursday, January 3
A small misunderstanding about a missing sausage I thought hed left on the kitchen counter for me, plus I broke his laptop a little bit, but he did leave it on my part of the sofa and Im sure that e key will fit right back on with a bit of glue. Other than that not a bad day, but then no day is completely wasted when you can lick your own genitals.
Friday, January 4
Disaster! The Owner made his own set of resolutions while I was busy lapping at my crutch last night and left them in plain sight for anyone to read.
Numbers 1, 2 and 4 were respectively: Take Blake to obedience school; Join a dating service; and, worst of all, If obedience school does not improve behaviour, have Blake neutered. There was also some rubbish about not drinking, getting fit, redecorating and keeping the place tidy.
Saturday, January 5
Usually, his resolutions last as long as it takes to open a can of beer, but today the Owner was awake at dawn (with the aid of a snuffling wet nose to the face). For once he didnt push me away with a Fuuuurgghhofff Blake, but gave me a cheery good morning, jumped out of bed and into the ludicrous training outfit he bought in the sales yesterday. Im not well versed in human fashion, but I know my Prada from Versace and this is neither. He thinks it makes him look like Sylvester Stallone in