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June 12, 2010 / lionelbean

The Early Lionel Gets The Treats

J says it’s important we get up at 7AM each day for the next month to watch every single game of the World Cup. Which in this Lionel’s opinion is wayyy too early. And for what? To watch a bunch of DBs lope around after a ball that’s far too big to hold in your mouth? Forget it.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at all interested, because in this particular World Cup there’s a player – a superb player – on the Argentinian side who is such a big fan of my furry perfection that he’s gone and named himself after me.

Argentinian Lionel and I share many of the same attributes. We both stand under 4 feet tall, we both have quick/unstoppable footspeed, and we both have unruly tufts of head fur that occasionally obscures our eyes.

So I guess I don’t have a problem waking up early to watch this particular player not carry a ball in his mouth. In a way, I feel like he’s my son, and I should support him, and I should be rewarded for this support with my new favourite thing: early morning treats.

June 11, 2010 / lionelbean

Call Me Lishmael

It was cold in the T-Bell this morning. Unseasonably cold. The state of my carrot is evidence enough of that (frosted tips), but you know what was the coldest part of the morning, by far?

Running into the wiliest of my old foes, and having his unnatural albino fur slip through my paws yet again.

When J and I first starting voyaging to the T-Bell, I was very clear about the purpose of our sorties: To hunt down and kill the Great White Tree Rat.

It’s a simple goal. One you’d think would merit a bit of an alley-oop from the thumbsiest member of the pack. But no. In fact, instead of aiding me in this quest, J actively restrains me, by way of this incredibly complicated neck-binding system that he wields from his sickly hairless paws. It’s some future shit.

Anyway, after today’s failed lunge, I turned to J and stared at him, letting him know exactly how much of a disappointment he is to me, and how I expect the pack to cooperate like Stalin’s peasant soldiers in the pursuit of Getting Things That I See And I Want.

J looked back into my eyes with the intensity of an Alpha.

“You’ve been chasing him for so long, Lionel. What would you do if you ever caught him?”

That’s easy.

I’d feast. And then wear the Tree Rat’s skin as a cape, or scarf.

A cape or scarf of pride.

June 10, 2010 / lionelbean

They Had Stew For Dinner

I had kibble.

June 10, 2010 / lionelbean

You Got Lioneled!

Rwonk schnoo, rwonk schnoo, rwonk schnoo…








Oh snap! Lioneled! GET THIS DICK!!!

June 9, 2010 / lionelbean

Lionel Recommends: Swamp

So I hit the Leaside ravine the other day with Candy, this bitch I sometimes roll with.

It’s a bit of a car ride from Ms. P’s parents’ den, but it’s totally worth it. You know why?

Swamp water. Murky, raccoon-carcass befouled swamp water.

You know how it is; you’re out on a run, it’s a warm afternoon, you’re feeling a little thirsty… and then bam! Ravine swamp. Open for the drinking/bathing! LOVE IT!!!

I must have drank my fill at least five different times in five different swamps.

And later that evening I was lucky enough to relive the taste-memory of those slimey treats when I threw up on J’s face while he was sleeping.

Can’t wait to do it again!

June 8, 2010 / lionelbean

World Pup Soccer

My agent called today. “You’re familiar with the Soccer Dog franchise, right?”

I was like, “Bark, no.”

So I Googled it.

Apparently it’s this Air Bud ripoff from the late 90s about a dog named Lincoln who’s amazing at soccer. The sequel – Soccer Dog: European Cup – is apparently a more political film (its cast includes Orson Bean, who you’ll remember played shrewd businessman/shopkeeper Loren Bray on 146 episodes of “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman”, a role he reprised in the made-for-TV movie, “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman: The Movie”.)


An independent producer bought the rights to “Soccer Dog” in anticipation of releasing a third installment in time for this year’s World Cup in South Africa, but as of yesterday, the pup playing Lincoln was found dead in his trailer next to a full dish of treats and an overturned water saucer. Probably a sex crime.

So my agent sent my reel to the guy, and I guess he likes me for the part… but i’m not sure about it.

For starters, I don’t love the idea of stepping into a role that’s been pioneered by another canispian. Nobody wants to be the Jason Bateman to the original Lincoln’s Michael J. Fox. No contest!

Also, I read the first 15 pages of “Soccer Dog: Apartheid”, and it’s fucking brutal. Totally unbelievable – the love interest is an endangered leopard? Come the fuck on.

Plus I’d have to do an Afrikaans accent, which I haven’t rehearsed since I did that Tim Monnich workshop when I was up for Leo’s role in “Blood Diamond”.

I don’t know. On the other hand, a cheque is a cheque…

What do you think I should do?

May 28, 2010 / lionelbean


J really shouldn’t let me climb into the internet and run around like I’m off-leash at the T-Bell. Why? Because I find shit like this.

Oh, Frank Lloyd Wright designed your den? Fuck you. I sleep on a $4 Ikea blanket covered in dried snout mess, bits of my teething bone and drops of teething-bone-related blood.

I know the important things in life aren’t material things; they’re the rubs of the belly, they’re the new assholes that – when you put your face in them – surprise your senses; they’re, well, they’re the treats.

And yet, I’m pretty sure I would tear up Ms. P’s best pair of riding boots for a single blissful night in one of these palatial dens.

Especially if this freaky mutt-eyed bitch was part of the package.

My carrot’s getting wet just thinking about it.