Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post was written by him…

I had been stalking the water bottle for some time. Watching. Waiting. Every time she put it down, I’d be there. I learned its routines, studied its weaknesses. I knew it would take time, but I had time.  And so I waited. I, the hunter; it, the totally hunted. I knew the time would come when I would pounce on that water bottle and take it back to my lair, where I would proceed to tear it apart in the most brutal way possible.

Today was that day. I saw my opportunity, and I took it:

Then I runned away and hid:

Don’t think Amber was very pleased, somehow. But still, you know what they say: you can please some of the people some of the time, and the rest are idiots, who shoulda kept a closer watch on their water bottles already.

Smell yas,

RUBIN

(Rubin is the dog with the blog. This post was written by him.)

Actually, let’s not be modest here, folks. I don’t just BELIEVE I can fly: I KNOW I can fly. Lookit:

SEE? I can totally fly. Like Superman, only better.

Just in case yoos are wonderin’, no Terry is not helping me in this picture. Ha, like he even could! Terry wouldn’t know how to fly if a book called HOW TO FLY came and bit him on the ass. It’s just me what can do it. Yes, your Rubinman has superpowers! Other superpowers I’ve got: ability to pee on the washing machine more often than you would believe possible, barking at the kind of pitch that would make you deaf, saving the world.  Yoos can thank me later for that last one. For now,  just know that the Rubinman is here, watching over yoos. In fact, when you go to sleep at night, I am hovering over your bed JUST LIKE IN THE PICTURE.

I bet yoos are all totally freaked out now, no? Don’t worry, I know it’s not every day you see a flying WOLF and all, but rest assured that the Rubinman uses his superpowers for good rather than evil. Most of the time.

Laters,

Rubin

So, this morning I came home from the gym and found that Rubin had been using my computer while I was gone.  Specifically, Photoshop:

Rubin's message to Amber

Rubin writes….

So, after last week’s video, some of yoos wrote to me to say yoos were all worried about me n’ my “loneliness”. Let me just say here and now, the Rubinman is NOT lonely. Not when he has his main man Almeida in the house, anyway…

(NOTE: Parental advisory! Some scenes may not be suitable for small chhildren!)

(Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post is by him.)

It’s come to my attention that Amber and Terry seem to be expecting me to pee outside ALL THE TIME. I mean, not just the occasional alfresco pee, we’re talking all outside, all the time i.e. I NEVER get to pee in the house ever again.

Reasons for me thinking this:

1. When I go outside I get called a “good boy” and I normally get a little something for my trouble, like a sweetie or something
2. When I go INSIDE I get the whole “baaaaad boy” thing and they give me NOTHING

Does anyone else think this is just NOT FAIR?

They don’t pee in the garden. I’ve never once seen Them pee in the garden. They always use the bathroom. Always. I use the bathroom, what happens? “Baaaad boy”. *Sigh* I don’t think this is even ABOUT where I pee. I think it’s pretty much a case of “two legs good, four legs ‘baaaad’.” I think you see where I’m going with this.

Well I’m not backing down, sweetie or no sweetie. Yesterday morning, while Amber was drying her hair, I crept into the bathroom and crapped on the floor. Heeee!

And another thing, just while I’m on the subject of the bathroom: why is it “cute” when the Andrex puppy unravels a whole toilet roll, but why I do it it’s suddenly NOT?
*disgusted*

(Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post was written by him.)

Amber and Terry are MAD. They’re, like, totally obsessed with my PAWS. “Give me a paw,” they’ll say, a few times a day. I mean, why? What do they want my paw for? “Get your own paw,” I always feel like saying, but once I’ve handed over the paw they always make a big fuss of me, and sometimes I get a sweetie, so I put up with it. MAD, though.

And another thing: what’s with the whole “Sit – stand – lie down” routine that they keep making me go through? I mean, you don’t see me walking up to them and going, “Hi Terry – SIT”, do do? So why do they do it to me? Because they’re MAD, that’s why.

This week, Terry’s been bein’ particularly MAD. It’s like, he just got up one morning and he started wreckin the house, ripping up floors and stuff. I don’t know what rattled his cage, but alls I’m sayin is, I hope it wasn’t ME, you know? Because it’s his own fault that I peed on the washing machine YET AGAIN when They went to see “Gym” last week. I’m tryin to set a world record: Dog Who Has Peed on the Washing Machine Most Times. I’ll do it too, and they can’t even stop me. And if they want me to keep handin’ over my paws, like a “good boy”, they better not even try…

Rubin writes:

One of those days when they stand you on a TABLE and CUT OFF YOUR HAIRS! I couldn’t believe it. Well, actually, I could. I mean, I should have seen it coming. There’s been a number of comments made recently about my appearance – by Terry mainly. He’s very pass-remarkable, Terry. “Scruffy” is one word he’s been using. “Smelly” is another. I mean, I just ignored him and made sure to pee on his side of the bed whenever I could, but I should’ve know he’d be up to something.

Well, yesterday they BATHED me. I thought that was the end of it, but no. This morning Terry comes and gets me, and he’s actin’ all excited, like we’re going to be doin something cool… and then he stands me on a table and he CUTS OFF MY HAIRS.  Amber just sat there the whole time, patting me and offering me goodboys, but I just looked at her, like, “don’t you even touch me, traitor.”

So anyway, that’s me, HAIRLESS again. Again! Afterwards Amber gave me a JUMBONE and even Terry kept going on about how good I was and stuff – yeah, right- let’s stand YOU on a table and cut your hairs off with a sharp thing, and we’ll see how good YOU are, Terry. No, really, lets.  Honestly. At least that’s it over, though. I spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping and playing with my toys. And actually, it’s not so bad, this haircut thing. I mean, it’s like, it’s not like anyone could make the Rubinman look like a sissy now, is it?

Rubin writes:

This is Ted. Now, I know what yoos are thinkin’. Yoos are all, “Great bear, Rubinman – orange is SO your colour!” The thing is, though, Ted is NOT a great bear. In fact, me and Ted, we don’t talk. We’re just not down with each other. Also: he’s totally mental.

Ted, you see, is Amber’s bear. Yes, Amber has a bear. I know! It’s like, how old is she, four? Actually, Amber is WAY old, and so is Ted. This makes Ted a bit of an ass, really, because he totally thinks he’s, like, IN CHARGE of all the toys in the house, you know? Also, he thinks he’s in charge of me, and that right there shows you how totally mental Ted is because NO ONE IS THE BOSS OF THE RUBINMAN.

Ted thinks he is, though. He’s been alive for as long as Amber, and Amber’s been alive since FOREVER, so he’s all, “Respect your elders, young Rubin me lad, waffle, waffle, waffle.” Idiot. I don’t even know why Amber has him, I really don’t, because it’s like, what does she DO with him? I haven’t ONCE seen Amber pick Ted up in her teeth and throw him around the room by the scruff of his neck, and that’s totally what I’d do with him. Then I’d throw him out the house and tell him to never show his sorry orange ass round here again. And he would listen because he would be scared of me.

Let this be a warning to all yoos orange-ass bears out there. For real.

RUBIN

So, what a lot of yoos Rubin fans probably don’t know is that as well as hunting fat kids and postmen, and just generally bein’ a mad scary WOLF, the Rubinman is also a “moovy star” in his spare time. Yes, it’s true, the Rubinman is famous. I’m big in Japan, apparenty.

Anyway, here’s one of them “moovys” I made just for you, people. It’s like, I really hope it doesn’t scare yoos too much, you know? Kids, ask your parents before you watch this. And don’t have nightmares. (Unless you’re a postman, in which case you SHOULD be scared, and I mean it.)

(Rubin is a dog with a blog. This post was written by him.)

I’m in disgrace. Again. No one’s talking to me. They’re still feeding me (feeding me DOGFOOD) and taking me walks and stuff, but there’s definitely an “atmosphere”. It all seems to be stemming from The Cushions.

Last Saturday we went round to see my Norma and John, and Norma had growed two cushions. Amber decided to bring them home with us, and they’ve been living on the couch ever since. Amber kept looking at them and touching them and stuff, so naturally I took agin the pair of them.

Well. On Monday night, I go down the stairs and I see The Cushions. Well, I don’t need to tell you what happened. I was only down there on my own for a few minutes, but by the time They came down I had:

1) pulled one of the cushions off the couch
2) peed on it
3) Jumped onto the couch – the CREAM couch- with my muddy paws
4) left mud all over it
5) been out to the garden and collected more mud
6) brought it back into the house with me
7) put it all over the CUSHIONS

Amber went MENTAL. So did Terry, but he’s always mental. I got put in the Sin Bin for ten minutes. When I came out though, I bided my time then when they were out of the room I went and peed against the guitar that lives under the stairs. Amber didn’t find out until the next morning, and by then she hadn’t caught me in the act, so she couldn’t give me a row. Hee!

The next day I dug me a hole. It’s my best ever hole, I’m really quite proud off it. It’s a hole in the LAWN rather than in the dirt. GO me! Then I took Terry’s pen and burried it in the hole. They didn’t find it until the next day. How I laughed! That night I secretly peed against the guitar again. Sometimes I amaze even myself…