The Gussie Courier-Dispatch-Sentinel-Tribune

In the beginning, there was the woof ...

June 30th 2011 8:06 pm
[ Leave A Comment | 6 people already have ]

Today is my birthday. Actually, Finkmom had to estimate the day of my birth because she didn't meet me until I was a few weeks old.

She tells a story of my origins that must be complete fiction. It is too mundane to be about the creation of a Finknottle as mighty and magnificent as me.

Her version of events is as follows: Her friend's mom's yorkie
got knocked up by the rat terrier down the street, and bing, bam, boom, out pops Gussie Finknottle a few weeks later.

O Henry, she ain't.

So let me recount the epic tale of the origins of the Finknottle.

My birf mudder was a beautiful yorkie whose painting hangs in the Louvre two nails down from the Mona Lisa. She was descended from a long line of magnificent English beeyatches who have inspired artistic geniuses through the ages: Mozarf, dog Vinci, Pawcy Sheltie -- they were all spurred to create masterpieces because of ancestors.

But the Finknottle women, though beautiful, also had an innate stealthiness and strength of jaw to bite arses through the ages. Anytime. Anywhere. And, though it's never been acknowledged by hisstorians (I say "hiss"torians because (didn't you know?) CATS wrote the history books in those days, and they hissed with rage at the thought of giving us dogs our due in their tomes. But I digress).

Yes, the Finknottle girls shaped the course of hisstory. A few facts:
1. Napolean did not flee into exile on the island of St. Helena because he was defeated at Waterloo. What really happened? During the battle, the Duke of Wellington released his Yorkie beeyatch, who ran across the battlefield and spooked Napolean's horse. It bucked him, he hit the ground and immediately felt an agonizing pain in his left buttock. My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandbeeyatch had sunk her teeth into his butt and refused to let go until he left continental Europe, never to return. The mysterious circumstances in which he died? Buttock wound abscess. It happens. Sacre bleu!

2. After terrorizing London's Whitechapel slums for months, Jack the Ripper suddenly stopped killing. Many hisstorians say he ceased his evil activities because he must have died or left the city. The truth is that my great-great-etc.-grandbeeyatch was the first fully-trained ninja dog employed by Scotland Yard. By the time she was finished ripping the arse of The Ripper, he would never be able to sit again. As he was fleeing London, clutching his rump, crying, he lost his way in the fog, accidentally ran into a crumpet factory, slipped on a puddle of Yorkshire pudding, tripped over a box of hobnobs, fell into a vat of clotted cream and was never seen again.

But, tired of the constant hounding from MI6 to perform increasingly dangerous missions that invariably left her silky, gorgeous hair in tangles, my beautiful ancestresses came to America.

End Part I

 
 

Leave A Comment | 6 people already have

Barked by: Sprocket (Dogster Member)

July 1st 2011 at 9:48 pm

We are waiting with baited breath for Part II
Barked by: Scout (Dogster Member)

July 1st 2011 at 10:41 pm

Oh Dog, was that funny. Thanks for the laughs Gussie and have a ridiculously delicious birthday!
Barked by: Hunter (Dogster Member)

July 2nd 2011 at 6:06 am

We like your version Miss Finkknottle! Your mum has no imagination!
Barked by: Riley (Dogster Member)

July 2nd 2011 at 7:07 am

Finally a fitting, true-account of your history. Told so richly. You had me at "Today is my birthday."

I hope you had a wonderful birthday, filled with everything that you love.

I look forward to the rest of your tail . . . I mean tale.
Barked by: Riley (Dogster Member)

July 2nd 2011 at 7:08 am

Finally a fitting, true-account of your history. Told so richly. You had me at "Today is my birthday."

I hope you had a wonderful birthday, filled with everything that you love.

I look forward to the rest of your tail . . . I mean tale.
Barked by: Katie L

July 2nd 2011 at 7:22 am

I knew those stories about Napolean death being from either arsenic poisoning or stomach cancer were wrong. Of course, Investigators must have been paid large bribes to keep the Finknottle story quiet -- or perhaps just fear itself; this sounds worse than the curse of King Tut's tomb.


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