L and myself (and now Brady...) have fallen into the routine of heading to the Dog Run on weekends. These are the days I await with eager beaverness as I get to meet up with strange dogs for a round of socialising. Now I must declare that we used to go to the West Coast Dogrun where there are plenty of grass and a fiddlestick of Fidos running all about; they smellin my anal sac me humpin their backs etc. ya know the usual macho stuff.

But in recent times, we have moved our joint to the Bishan Dogrun where I trudge with less enthusiasm. You see, here there are fiddlesticks of grass and plenty of Fidos instead... small Fidos to be exact. I'm speaking of Chihuahuas. Alas, the curse of the adoption of my step brother (a forced one mind you) follows me wherever I go... such that my social circle has now been reduced(literally?figuratively?) to a sallow bunch of that Mexican breed. The reason is a painful one L reminds me, for Brady got punched in a fight and is now under Big Daddy's orders to mingle with only dogs his size.

It doesn't help that the human family coos at all the wawas evertime they go, like it's some stuffed toy exhibit. Pls tell me I so don't belong here...