“Ahoy.” My story today explains how one vicious scratch across my face transformed me into a Seadog.
I snuck off to Puppy Pirates Dog Camp.
Me Hearties, tried and true Scurvy Dogs show’d me the ropes.
These old salt sailors pushed my Muttness outa the way so me inner Scallywag could shine and transform into a Buccaneer. As soon as that persona oozes thru me pores, I’m trading up to a Swashbuckler.
Swashbucklers drink the Clap- a- thunder all day and howl with the four-legged wenches all night. That sounds like the life for me.
I’d a stay’d a Lily-livered landlubber if Ma woulda took me to the doc to stitch up the gash in me face. But, no, Ma couldn’t be bothered and opted to clean and patch my gaping wound herself. I asked Ma where her Veterinary degree was. Her face scrunched into a scowl, and her once gentle hands got rougher with the cleaning. After that, I kept me yap shut, grateful I hadn’t lost a leg in my battle with the raccoon. At this point, it wouldn’t shock me if Ma tried a do-it-yourself peg- leg.
Blimey, I learned a lot in Pirate school. Like if someone calls me a Son of a biscuit eater, I’m supposed to growl and swat their face with my tail. My Ma doesn’t eat biscuits, so I shouldn’t need to use my tail as a weapon anytime soon.
Did you know walking the gangplank is not the same as chasing the frisbee off the dock?
Another thing is If anyone talks about Feeding the Fish, I better skedaddle cuz Davy Jones’ locker is not a Club Med resort. I hear that when you go in only bits and pieces come out. Shiver Me Timbers!
Dang, cats always got barge in and wreck everything. I freaked when I heard, “Cat O’Nine Tails!” Immediately I pictured a cat with nine tails. No worries, I calmed when it was explained,” it’s a whip with nine tails.” Then I admit I got excited thinking about attaching a Cat O’Nine Tails to my butt swinger. That would be so awesome! “Savvy?” I bet all the raccoons, porcupines, fishers, and bears would quit trying to scar me.
“Heave ho” means I’m gonna be hot, sweating, and hating life instead of drinking rum with Lassie under me arm.
I guess I was not paying close enough attention in class cuz I missed that the Poop deck is NOT where to poop! Aaaarrrrgggghhhh, what is up with that? Right now, I think all pirates got Scurvy of the brain. I’m sorry, but I’m sooo not impressed with the Yo- Ho- Ho way of life.
I cut and ran when they tried to maneuver me onto the gangplank, where I’d hang my butt off to poop. Even though I’ve departed the deep blue seas and am back in the fields of golden corn, I want to share a few more tidbits.
This is what I would look like if Mom went back on her word and forced silly costumes on my ruggedly handsome body. Honest, I must be; Mom did grab a blue handkerchief and some big gold bling to wrap around my sturdy neck. I gave her “The Look,” she said, “Sorry,” and put the unmanliness stuff away.
This poor shlep did not escape his mom.
I poem I wrote while away….
A face, a scar A Pirate I shall be Tally Ho, Tally He The open sea is where I’ll be
Chains of gold, bandanas red A Pirate as I previously said I strut, I pee; I go to bed I wake, I look; I still have a scared head
Oceans flow to and fro A Pirate goes with the blow Surf, winds and sometimes snow I am a Mutt; I don’t drink joe
As a Pirate I go with the flow Sometimes our boat needs a tow Boards break, sails tear meaning I will sew While we sing Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do
A face, a scar A Pirate I shall be Tally Ho, Tally He I fear the open sea will be the death of me. The end.
Move it on over Eminem; the “O” is in the house!