Simpson here - and aren't you lucky!

Well, Darwin is outside, sitting in the sunshine, hoping that the heat will warm the blood going to his brain sufficiently that he can think. So I'll take the opportunity to write a few words about myself (what better topic could a writer have?) and provide some balance in this blog.

I'm small, I'm lean and mean, and I'm not going to take it any more! Whatever that means, but it sure sounds ferocious, doesn't it? I've got a good set of teeth, and showing them seems to impress everybody but Dad, who just laughs at me.

But that brings up an interesting question - what do dogs call their human companions? Certainly not Master, or Owner, since we dogs are the ones the really set the rules and run things. Dad and Mom sound so hackneyed and trite, and all too....well, human. I could say "My Person", but then you wouldn't know which one I meant - even though I only have one Person, the other one thinks she's my Person, too, and it wouldn't be in my best interest to disbase her of that impression. Most of us, when we're out running in the neighborhood and meet another canine (which doesn't happen very often, unfortunately) refer to our humans by particularly insulting names, based on striking characteristics, like smell, or behaviours we've observed that the humans don't realize that we notice, let alone remember. Our humans would be horrified if they understood what we call them, but we just think it funny. Which is why, when two of us meet, usually tethered at the end of leashes, the humans often say "Oh, look, they're smiling!" No, we aren't, we're laughing at you.

Oh, great. They've let Darwin back in the house. I'd best go torment him a bit, to remind him that I'm young, and he isn't. Oh - I'll try to add a picture of my magnificent self for you to admire.

See ya!

Simpson

So here I am.

Darwin here.  Having seen my friend Izzie's blog, and figuring I'm at least as smart as he is, I demanded my own blog.  I need a vehicle for expressing my innermost feelings.  And for setting the record straight about the little upstart with whom I'm forced to share my space - a rat-tailed little annoyance named Simpson.

My people and I moved to a new house a month or so ago - and darned if that little cur didn't follow us.  Anyhow, we've got a nice yard with a redwood fence around it, although I'm not so pleased about the red decorative gravel.  No dusty ground to roll around on.  It's a quiet neighborhood, but still the occassional passer-by, some with dogs, to bark at.  I usually just tuck myself into a corner and take the sun, but Simpson hops up on one of the two tables and sits there like he was the Sphinx or something.

By the way, if and when I let him have a say on this blog, don't fall for any story about him being named after George Gaylord Simpson, like my people say.  I think they say that just to make him feel better.  I'm sure he's named after Homer Simpson.  Whenever I can bodycheck him into a door or a wall, he says "Duh!".

I know I'm named after Charles Robert Darwin, one of my Person's most admired people, because he is always saying "Down!" to me, and Down was the name of the house where Darwin lived on the other side of the big water - which they've yet to take me to see, I might add.

OK, that's enough for today.

Cheerio.

Darwin