Читать книгу Bad to the Bone: - Bo Hoefinger - Страница 6

Let’s get this clear right away: I’m a dog. I’m one-foot-ten and weigh sixty-three pounds, and although I’m a mutt on the outside, I’m a purebred on the inside. My good nature comes from the golden retriever side of the family, while my stubbornness is clearly from my chowchow bloodlines. I’ve got Rastafarian ears, a black tongue for licking, and paws that should be on a dog twice my size.

I type sixty words a minute.

My name is Bo.

I’m a senior dog. In fact, I’m in what God calls “bonus time.” As any experienced dog will tell you, the desire to leave our urine stain on the proverbial fire hydrant of life grows stronger the longer the bond between you and owner exists. For me, the yearning is strong (sometimes as much as eleven times a day).

Some dogs memorialize themselves by using their teeth to carve their stories into the family furniture. Others prefer barking out an oral history. But I’ve always been a writer.

I usually do it in the snow, but for longevity sake, I’ve put paw to paper this time.

The unauthorized biography you hold in your paws was written without the express written consent of the two humans involved in these adventures. Seeing as owners never seem to ask their canines for permission when writing about them I extend the same discourtesy, at least until someone leaves seven pounds of unmarked ground beef at a designated drop-off of my choosing.

I want to assure you, this book provides you with the unique opportunity to share episodes in my life as they unfolded, through the eyes of man’s best friend. What you’re getting is 100 percent genuine Mr. Bo Hoefinger and family. The characters in this book, the stories, and the thoughts are all real. The names may have been changed to protect the innocent.

So take pleasure in the world as I have seen it, experienced it, and lived it.

I welcome you to my mind and my story…