Milk-Bone Heads
August 27th, 2008
After declining their offer (through my lawyers) to make me Milk-Bone SpokesDog of 2008 and plaster my comely countenance upon red biscuit boxes the length and breadth of the nation, it seems the preeminent dog treat company has decided to throw caution to the wind and appeal to the wider ruck in the slim hope of finding a muzzle as stately as mine with which to galvanize the hopes and dreams of the American public.
All across the country, dogs are pouring into auditions to undergo a series of grueling whisker measurements, snout appraisals and ear inspections in order to root out the privileged pup whose features bear the most resemblance to those of yours truly. The organizers, understandably, have decided to wrap the proceedings around a charade in which owners are deluded into believing that it’s the “bond” they have with their dog which clinches the deal.
But what can the lucky winner expect after signing the contract? Apart from enjoying the new cars, jet skis and designer watches their owners are likely to buy them with the $100,000 prize money, the new Milk-Bone dog will have to adjust to their new found celebrity dog status - which means they can never lead a normal life again.
Forget about pooping in public - to be photographed crouching outside Starbucks with knees-a-tremble is to kiss goodbye to your career (just ask Buck from TV’s Married With Children). No, the prominent pooch is condemned to a life of ducking between two parked cars on the shaded side of the street whenever they get the urge to lay a cable.
And they can forget about the joys of indiscriminate butt-sniffing in the dog park - the poor pooch will be required to sign a code of conduct which prohibits them from whiffing more than 30 derrieres in a week.
Which is, ultimately, why I said “no”.
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