Ogarth the Great

 Admiral Ogarth, Lord of the Seven Seas and Scourge of South Lake

Ogarth, the Supervisor

 Ogie and his Bogies

Ogie Rides in the Trailer

 Ogarth in the Great Blizzard of 2009

 "There's a face in the door."


"No," said Ogie, "There's a door in my face!"


 We Give Spring a Big Welcome
   Last week Ogarth wrote a letter to his former servants, the ones who revolted against his benevolent dictatorship.


I'm writing this to let you know that I survived my time in the wilderness, and that I'm again in my rightful place as master of all things mobile, mm motile, mmm, the whole world, yeh that's it.

After your mutiny, I lived in the wilds of cowlin county, mmm, no Collin country, for many years. I was beset by many perils, and overcame every fearsome obstacle. One time I had to face down a gang of barbarians of the coyoteee tribe, but I stood tall and showed them my fangs of death and they panicked and started howling and crying, and went away.

After a long time, I recognized one of your tribe, running away from some horrific danger. I ran out ahead of her, and led her to safety. The next day I saw her again, and had to protect her from a giant creature from the land of the shaggy white giant creatures. Mmm, so I did my duty as Lord of the Realm, and came ashore at this island.

The natives here are friendly, and easily subdued. I quickly became master of the island.

This is a good land, much larger than your paltry dukedom, and with many wonderful smells. Everything here smells real and dank and luscious. I have completely taken over, and now I run the place, mm, and I often run the chickens.

There are two natives here, one is called “Momma” and is very nice and talks to me a lot about data storage systems, and feeds me.  Every morning she goes away, and has to run from dire danger again, but she always runs back to the safety of my strength and protection. These natives are so delicate.

The other native is called “Daddy” and has more fur. He spends all day in a giant doghouse, mumbling to things he calls “machine.”

My subjects worship me, understand my superiority, bring me sacrifices, and ply me with Bogies to win my favor. They call me “DOG”, but I think that's cause they are dyslectic.  They are certainly too clumsy to walk on four paws at the same time. They are a sad lot for sure, but I take care of them and keep them safe and we have a fruitful symbironical [sp] relationship that benefits everyone, mmm, er, me.

Let me close by saying that I don't miss you at all, that I'm very happy with these servants, and that you can damn well pee on your own trees.

I'll get this in the mail as soon as I find a stamp to slobber on,


Your former master,

Ogarth the Great.

Ps: I've decided to enter the Iditarod sled dog race. I think it would be great fun, but I don't think Mommy and Daddy can pull me that far.