George Penney on Nostr: Today we say goodbye to our housesitting #dog overlord, the right-hand-turning-only ...
Today we say goodbye to our housesitting #dog overlord, the right-hand-turning-only hairy potato.
If he was an obliging potato, and understood the rules of narrative causality, he would have--on our last day-- won a decisive victory against his nemesis the Uberpigeon.
He would've then victoriously turned left to get back to the apartment, where he would have growled a short sharp "Ask first!" to Milo the Butt Huffing Golden Retriever, saving himself any indignity. Once inside, he would have willingly trotted into the bathroom for a luxurious bath and then enjoyed his hair being brushed on the balcony.
This did not happen.
The pigeon, once again beat the crap out of him, he then ran (at moderate pace making only right turns) to his vegan burger restaurant of sanctuary, curling in front of the roller shutter as usual. He then returned home to receive the butt huffing of the century from Milo.
He then grudgingly submitted to a bath, while emitting an epically long doggy groan of suffering. This was followed by a series of sighs more judgemental than those made by a British person who's just been gazumped in a queue.
He is now snoring louder than he's ever snored, while still managing to emanate the stench of a thousand flatulent rhinos.
I will miss this little potato immensely, but take comfort that he will always be here in Berlin, forever turning right, getting pigeon flapped and butt huffed with the surety of the sun rising.
If he was an obliging potato, and understood the rules of narrative causality, he would have--on our last day-- won a decisive victory against his nemesis the Uberpigeon.
He would've then victoriously turned left to get back to the apartment, where he would have growled a short sharp "Ask first!" to Milo the Butt Huffing Golden Retriever, saving himself any indignity. Once inside, he would have willingly trotted into the bathroom for a luxurious bath and then enjoyed his hair being brushed on the balcony.
This did not happen.
The pigeon, once again beat the crap out of him, he then ran (at moderate pace making only right turns) to his vegan burger restaurant of sanctuary, curling in front of the roller shutter as usual. He then returned home to receive the butt huffing of the century from Milo.
He then grudgingly submitted to a bath, while emitting an epically long doggy groan of suffering. This was followed by a series of sighs more judgemental than those made by a British person who's just been gazumped in a queue.
He is now snoring louder than he's ever snored, while still managing to emanate the stench of a thousand flatulent rhinos.
I will miss this little potato immensely, but take comfort that he will always be here in Berlin, forever turning right, getting pigeon flapped and butt huffed with the surety of the sun rising.