And now a word from the dog.

I would like to thank my owner for the opportunity to guest blog for him. To protect my identity, I will call myself Jake, the wonder dog. I am a 63 year old black Labrador retriever. That's 9 years old to you humans.

Some of you only know the Yolo Cowboy through his rants and writings on The Roughstock Journal. I would like to shed some light on his personal life from someone who knows him well.

First of all, he is forgetful. I cannot tell you the times I have sat on the porch with my stomach growling because he forgot to feed me that night. Some who look at me could not tell that I have missed meals, but I have. He is also obsessive - compulsive. I put my snout on his arm, he moves it off, I put it back he, he takes it off. I don't understand this behavior, this is how I share my feelings and he doesn't think my drooling snout should be anywhere near him. He is also lazy. Lazy big time, when I want to hunt gophers, he wants to sit inside and blog or watch the news.

Dad, as I call him, does not see the benefit of my gopher hunting, especially in the front yard. I try to remind him that our soil is heavy and has quite a bit of clay in it, a good dose of aeration would do it some good. He may be good with horses, but the boy just don't understand proper lawn care. I have heard him mention that I was supposed to hunt pheasants, ducks and geese. I have tried these activities and have concluded that gunfire, cold weather and getting up at 4:30 am is not something I wish to do. Walking from the porch to the front yard to catch a gopher, now that's hunting.

Dad's other pets that actually live inside the house, the Jack Russell Terrier, who, pardon my language, is a pain the butt, and the Cat. The Cat's name escapes me right now but she is a strange creature to be sure. I don't see her much, she has the idea that I want to chase her and she runs by me on the porch to escape to the great outdoors. I could care less. Cats, for the lack of a better word, suck.

The terrier, Lexi, is like a tick that burrows under your skin just under the collar. She seems to be the Princess of the house. She sleeps on the bed or in the clothes basket while I sleep in my molded plastic doggie-igloo. Lexi gets all the good table scraps, and most of the attention. When she helps me execute a pincer movement against the dreaded gopher hordes, I get yelled at, she gets a bath and goes back in the house. There is no justice in this world. Small dogs, for the lack of a better word, suck also.

I would like to close on this note. The Yolo Cowboy gets a pet satisfaction rating of 7 1/2.
He is ok by me. Ooh, gotta go, I think I smell a gopher in yard.
Thanks for time, Jake