It started off like any other day. I woke up, I streeeetched twice, I yawned loudly enough to warrant a nudge from my mom's foot, and I tumbled off the bed to await breakfast. As usual, mom did not get up as quickly as I would have liked (was it not HER alarm that woke me from restful coonie slumber in the first place??) and I was forced to leap back up onto the bed, press my cold wet nose against her cheek and lick her in the face until she pushed me away. Could she be any more grateful, people?!
Then she abandoned me with a kiss blown across the air (which I successfully dodged, might I add) and a half-hearted promise that she would return to me soon. "Don't hurry!" I called out after her. This prompted yet another wave (am I supposed to be able to respond to that? Oh sure, let me just whip out my extra set of opposable thumbs that I have hidden here) and the door was shut. I immediately trotted to my place at the window to make sure she was really leaving (for some reason, she interprets this as slightly concerned devotion, and I don't want to devastate her, so I do let her think that), and THEN the fun would begin. Oh the things I could get into! I didn't doubt for a moment that the butter tray was within reach and I would devour that delectable artery-clogging meal in a moment...right after a short nap. After all, this getting up, eating breakfast, and peeing in the backyard thing was exhausting work!
A few hours later, I awoke to make sure the neighborhood was still in good order. Fortunately, no one dared to walk down my block at that moment. I resumed my restful slumber on the queen bed. How thoughtful of my mom to raise the blinds so I didn't have to leave the cushiony goodness in order to see passersby!
She did come home, eventually. She always returns Sunday afternoons smelling like hay and those, those creatures. Biggest dogs I've ever seen! Frankly, I wasn't impressed. Three times my size, but probably a third of the brain power, in my humble opinion. And they're scared of everything! Not me, no siree. Well...except for brooms. And spray bottles. And the heating vent when it kicks on. And this one time I broke wind and it scared the tan right off of me! But that's beside the point.
All in all, the day wasn't a total bust. My mom took me for a short walk and congratulated herself for 10 minutes afterwards for walking me at all. Does she KNOW I'm a tracking hound dog?? We can go for miles! And believe me, I've tried. They usually find me when I get distracted by any human being who will even look sideways at me. Oh it brings my heart joy! LOVE ME!!! So she must have felt bad because later she brought home a brand new squeaker fish, which I have been delighting and entertaining the masses with for the past two hours.
A coonhound's work is never done.

March 22, 2007
Welcome to my blog! I had some difficulties setting this up because, although my slightly webbed feet come in handy when I swim - which is never, by the way, I'm a coonhound for crying out loud, not some Portuguese Water Dog - they are nevertheless quite cumbersome when you're trying to type. So reluctantly I have enlisted the help of my faithful servant, who shall herein remain nameless for the sake of not completely shattering her last tiny bit of pride, and she will act as my voice for this blog. For some reason, many people have a hard time comprehending coonie speak. I don't see the problem, I'm quite clear when expressing myself. Just ask the neighbors.

You wouldn't imagine a coonhound has a lot to say, would you? On the contrary, my friends! A coonhound is constantly pondering, pontificating, and perusing. That "perusing" usually involves the countertops, searching for tasty morsels that are conveniently set out within my tongue's grasp. Foolish humans! A coonhound has extraordinary abilities that allow us to stretch and contort to lengths unimaginable to reach a stray piece of food.

I've decided to share a few of my secret thoughts for the sole purpose of educating the public. Consider it my gift to the world. You will find yourself enlightened in a way you never before dreamed possible...for that, my friends, is the absolute reality when you have a coonhound in your life.

My mom came home from Florida last night. After greeting her with the obligatory lick on her face (she is so easily pleased!), I immediately pressed my nose over every inch of her suitcase. Oh the smells! Ocean, salt water, cats (could they possibly be inside??)... But I was not fooled for long. The air quickly carried something much, much sweeter and more worthy to my nose...CHICKEN. Could it really be? A stray bit of chicken nugget perhaps? (She eats them almost daily, believe me) I followed my never failing weapon of mass destruction to the source of the wonderful smell. Yes, it's in the backpack!! I frantically swiped at it with my paw and then plunged my nose into the zipper again, sucking in breaths hard enough to make my belly concave and my eyes bulge out of my head. CHICKEN!! (editor's note: coonhounds LOVE chicken.) Oh sweet, sweetness! This must be my reward for being so tolerant while left home alone with these Neanderthals for 5 days! Alas, it was not to be. My mom snatched the bag up out of my reach and walked into the kitchen, where she pulled out a Chick-Fil-A sandwich and placed it in the large, white, bomb-proof & safe-like structure that I hear them calling the "fridge" sometimes.

There's always tomorrow.