From the Dog's Mouth. Wavecrest Imprint

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      From the Dog’s Mouth

      Barks, Yelps & Growls About Politics, Jackasses and Blowhards, Religion, Christians and Jews, My Chosen People, Gays, Straights, Charlie Sheen, Joy Behar and Anything Else I Want to Yak About

      Mr. Darby

      Copyright © 2012 Mr. Darby

      No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.

      The Publisher makes no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. Neither the publisher nor author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any commercial damages.

      2012-04-17

      Dedication

      To Gail Bell, a four-legs’ best friend

      and my twin angels, Livia and Augusta Carney

      INTRODUCTION

      I am Mr. Darby

      Let me be upfront from first growl: I refer to my lord and master as Daddy or Dada because although he has never had a pet or raised two-legged kids, he has done his best to whip me into shape, make me abide by his rules and do what I am told. Sometimes I call him mon père or il mio papà, even simply Mister G. He and I have become co-healers in his practice as a therapist. He counsels thousands of men, women and children as an intuitive, using Carl Jung and astrology to wring the truth out of them, and to tell them what the world looks like through his lens.

      Thank God Dada learned how to read my mind, or as his momma Maggie would say, “listen to me,” so he could channel my thoughts for this book. And make no mistake about it — this is my book, not his. He will write as I dictate or there will be no book. More on that later.

      His Eminence has gotten a lot easier to live with since he and I had a meeting of the mind. And what can I say about him without a scintilla of fabrication? He does care about others and he is a no-bull-sh*tter. Dada tells it like it is. He cuts a clear swath through the screwed up culture in which two-legs live.

      As my fairy tale begins, once upon a time I lived in Bloomfield, Iowa. I was one of seven puppies, and I love the breeders who supervised my grand entrance. Millie the midwife said I am the most unlikely Wire Fox Terrier she has ever brought into the world because I was calmer and less rambunctious from day one. She and her husband put me up for sale on their web site, but then they decided they wanted to keep me because of my un-Wire Fox Terrier temperament. Daddy saw my picture before they could take me off the sales block — he said a voice of intuition told him to Google “Wire Fox Terrier” — and they decided to let him buy me. As Millie said to Daryl, “We are in the business of selling puppies, not raising them.”

      When mon père made that call to Millie, she told her husband Daryl that she liked him.

      “He seems real nice,” she said. “This Sedona gentleman seems like he would make a perfect parent for Darby.”

      That was even after Dada spilled the beans. He told her he was going to Egypt in February but he wanted to get a Wire Fox Terrier for his birthday in March. He said he was anxious about getting his first dog, and he wanted me to be housebroken.

      “He really does not want his new dog to poo and pee in his house,” Millie said. “He admitted that he was real ‘anal’ about these things. I promised him that when he got the new puppy that the dog would not make a mess indoors.”

      Ha! Lots of luck, Dada. It doesn’t work that way. Daddy never got me on a routine and I spent the first year-and-a-half regularly ruining his snow white carpet. Man, was he cranky when he walked into the Great Room early some mornings to find my “Good morning, Dada” repository.

      It’s important for you to understand the back story about il mio papà before you hear what I have to say. It explains a lot.

      He was raised in a single parent household with five other siblings. They did not have money to feed and care for a pet, so he never knew how to raise a dog. We four-leggeds talk amongst ourselves all the time about how many of our owners are unprepared for caring for an animal. Most of us canines are ill-equipped to give what two-legs are looking for, but there was something special about the match-up between me and Mister G.

      You see, I’m as intuitive as my owner. I knew outright that he and I needed one another. I also knew he had the right stuff to make it work, but it was going to take every ounce of endurance we both could muster.

      Mon père is an intuitive counselor who tracks stars — usually not Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt (although he does advise some of the silver screen sort from time to time). He tracks the shiny, twinkling kind, the ones found against the black sky, to see what makes people tick.

      He did my astrology before he bought me. I was born on October 5th which makes me an “even-Steven, fair and balanced puppy.” At least that’s what he tells everybody. I have the Moon in Sagittarius, which says that I am real independent. Dada doesn’t always like that. Since he never had a pet, he is making up for it by wanting more love and affection and attention than my Moon in Sagittarius wants to give. But I’ll talk about that when we get into how I became his therapist.

      I should also tell you right off the bat that I have two invisible guides. Mon père calls the Great White Brotherhood of Light the ‘hoods’. They not only give me the information I need to survive this ordeal, but they help both Dada and me grow. My intuition and these two spirits funnel me information and support my healing through this process. They don’t want a lot written about them (unlike all the “Look at me! See how powerful I am!” two-legs who are supposed to be guiding and leading the Great Unwashed). My sky spooks work in silence and with invisibility. More than a few of these two-legged self-appointed gurus have hoodwinked the masses for a long time. One is known to sue anyone who disagrees with him or mentions his name in print. But he’ll get his — like, when he downtrends faster than the speed of light and all he’ll be left with are creditors! Just know that my own spirit guides are with me, just as all of you have spiritual guides and healers who track you.

      These spirits help to let you know where other people are coming from, especially published authors and “talking heads” on TV. I wish that some of those big pieces of stuff in the spiritual world of books and hooey would ‘fess up’. It seems to me that they have humongous egos — and I mean over the rainbow self-centeredness. What happened to servant leadership? Just asking.

      Now here’s the scoop on the book. The only way I would agree to write this eye-opener was if Dada butted out. I want to tell the story about him and me and how he learned a lot because I agreed to stay around to teach him. But this book is more than that. It’s about how I see the world of two-legs’ politics, religion, spirituality, the Afterlife and the Herelife. It’s also about how big pieces of stuff — politicians, movie stars, social butterflies, and yeah, spiritual gurus — are getting too big for their britches. You are going to read a lot about how differently a four-legged looks at life than most of you two-leggeds.

      I should also tell you that I’ve decided not to change the names of those I’m writing about. Let the chips fall where they are meant to show that none of the two-legged world is quite as well put together as they seem to be. That includes unlikeable and infamous sorts and warm and fuzzy and well-known people too. You’ll have a lot of fun looking at the world as a dog sees it because we canines laugh our rear ends off at how sordid and silly humans are. Make no mistake, there are a lot of you that we four-leggeds love to hang out with. You will read about a few of those too.

      Mon père thought that he was going to send me back to Iowa eight or ten times in the first three months I lived in his house. Wrong. It was me who put the idea in his noodle to send me back. But every time I got him to pick up the phone to call my original parents, I could sense his sadness. He really wanted us to work out. He just needed