The Beelzepup Diaries: April 17



Mom’s been saying that I need to help out with the blog. Hi. I’m Ronan. A six-year-old Shikoku. No, I didn’t sneeze, and I’m not one of those fluffy little dogs. I’m a Japanese breed taller than a Shiba and smaller than an Akita. Personality wise, I‘m like neither. Anyway, it’s probably easier to just say I’m a Beelzepup. That’s what mom calls me, anyway. She says Beelzepup explains everything there is to know about me. Yep. Ronan Calvin Muto. The Beelzepup. Calvin? How the bark do I know?  Some kid with a cartoon and a stuffed Tiger he calls Hobbs. No clue why Mom picked Calvin for my middle name. She also refers to me as The Ronanator, Little Man and sometimes, just Little. A studly 38-pound guy like me could get a complex! Lay off the neuter jokes, okay?

Shut up. Or I’ll bite your ass. Okay, so maybe not your ass. Maybe your knee cap. Unless I jump. Then, it may not be your butt. So quit laughing.

I’m also the inspiration for the character Devlin in Mom’s first novel, The Book of Lost Souls. Something about hacking things up on the floor, peeing on rose bushes, and making the critters in the backyard squeak. Mom says that if they make that sound, it’s usually not good. HA! Don’t I know it! Those furry, oustside squeaky toys don’t last nearly as long as the squeakers in the toys Mom buys at the store. You can say what you want about imported goods, but these? The ones without the tags? They’re defective if you ask me. Sure, they’re a lot more fun to chase, but then all you get is ONE good squeak.

Mom usually replaces the squeaks in the ones she buys from the store. I bring them to her, and she puts another one in, stitches it back up and they’re good to go for another 15 minutes. I’ve tried, but Mom doesn’t seem to want to put new squeaks in the ones I get from the yard.

Well, that’s it for now. Next week I’ll tell you how I got dubbed as a Beezlepup. Smell ya later!



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