Dark walks

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Hello to Amici, Desert Pups, and all you other wild and crazy dog bloggers!
I don't know what's going on, but Rarf always makes me go for walks when it's still dark in the morning now (when I'm still trying to get my beauty sleep!), and after it's dark at night. When it's light out, she's not home. And we don't go to the track any more, or the quarry: we seem to stay on sidewalks and streets with no fields for me to tear around. I don't get it. She doesn't seem too happy about it either. And I haven't been swimming much lately either.
On the other hand, she has been playing soccer and stick in the yard with me at lunchtime---and I have to say that I skunk her every time.
By the way, I got weighed at the vet this week and at 10 months old I am 97 svelte newfie pounds!

Rarf's new project

Rarf and Joe (that's what she calls him) have been driving to that hayfield a lot---where Chocolate, the brown, chubby lab lives---and they always take me with them. It's kind of frustrating, because every time I run across the road to see Chocolate, Rarf drags me back and then ties me up. Now and then she takes me to swim in the pond filled with cattails, but other than that, she doesn't let me have much fun. She and Joe spend a lot of time carrying stuff around and banging stuff together and won't let me help. They have a blog about it called Sunnywood, but it's nowhere near as good as my blog.

I love raspberries :)

"Pick your own" is the best! We have the best raspberry patch in our yard. However, Rarf says dogs don't like fruit. Let's puzzle this out: I'm a dog; I like fruit. I love Rarf, but between you and me, she's not the sharpest tool in the shed.

Teenagers . . .

I don't know how to say this, but . . . there is a teenaged human in our house, and he does not like me. Even more amazing, none of his friends like me, either. I'm a NEWFIE, for goodness sake: what's not to like? I am (just ask me) pretty much the sweetest, funnest, beautifulest dog in the world. But all they see when they look at me is hair and drool. They all run away yelling "ewww!" when I try to play with them. They call themselves TEENAGERS??? They're senior citizens with pimples, if you ask me. It's no wonder the world is a mess, when the up and coming generation has such superficial standards. If they would only get to know me . . .

I am being tortured!!!

I have been trying for days to tell our neighbors that I'm being tortured. I admit that my puppy fur is falling out, and it looks, well, a tad scruffy. But does Rarf really think she's going to get all of the mats out of my fur??? Have you seen some of these "dematting tools"? They have nasty, big pointed teeth! Are these anything you would use on someone you love? Oh sure, Rarf keeps saying that this is just to make me feel better. But seriously, is this necessary? I'm not a show dog: I'm a run-in-the-woods-swim-in-the-river dog. If I could talk, I'd tell Rarf that the big black dogs who worked loyally by their owners' sides in Newfoundland were probably full of mats---and completely happy. Would someone please bring her to her senses?

Vay-kay

You know, vacation! Here I am, just chillin.

My people took me to a big family reunion in Canada, eh? They were afraid that there would be problems taking me across the border, but the border patrol agents only seemed to care whether there were three liters of wine in the car or four: they didn't even look at me (imagine!). We spent a night in the Ottawa pub district and about every two seconds someone on the street asked Rarf, "What kind of dog is that?" In Canada! I mean, I thought Newfies were like their national dog or something. Then we spent three days at a lake. I actually got tired of going in the water---really! That whole fetch thing gets old. And Rarf was trying to get me to pull kayaks to shore. NOT!

What's so funny?

I heard Rarf yelling for me today, but I couldn't understand why she couldn't find me. Where else would any self-respecting Newf sleep, but in the bathtub? When she finally found me, she started laughing. What's so funny? She sleeps in that awful stuffy room upstairs---which one of us is foolish, I ask you?