Houdini Hounds

Firstly, paws up who knows Houdini? Well done the few. For the remaining mentally challenged, he was an escape artist. I don’t mean the Shawshank Redemption type, I mean the David Blaine type (wait a second, the freak detectors gone off: weeeeirdohhhh weeeeeirdohhhhh weeeeirdohhhhh) Seriously, who stands on a column in the cold for EVER out of choice? My nipples shoot out and my nuts shoot in after just 5 minutes of hanging around in the garden after my nightly pee. And am I the only one wondering what the water thing was all about: does he think he’s Nemo? Puhlease! The Brits had the right idea- he was suspended in a Perspex box fasting for 40 days (I call that slowing) and someone sent up a toy helicopter which circled round him with a burger meal swaying teasingly beneath it, heh heh. But the guy needs a proper job.

Okay get back in your prams lawyers, I’m kidding and I hereby declare David Blaine’s a talented artist and praiseworthy entertainer. His friendly face emits witty repartee, he is a grandmaster at chess, a grand slammer at tennis and a grandfather to orphaned African babies. He sweats patchouli oil and will be canonised as a saint for his skills and general brilliance – does that keep us out of court?

Cool. Now, back to business. The real geniuses – or should that be geniii – are the Houdini Hounds. These are the dogs that can escape from anywhere. San Quentin? Devils Island? Hotel California? They spit on them.

Cross-breeds are supremos, although in general I disapprove of these mongrels: not that I’m a White Supremacist or anything, I’m just a self-opinionated KKK9. Jeez legal guys, chillll – I can’t help stammering. It’s not fu fu funny. Akch it is - don’t you wanna just f f f finish those words for ‘em! If only I could talk....

I’d say the dog’s cojones is a mongrel mutt and mentor of mine (for the sake of anonymity lets call him “Rex” – he’s still wanted for an incident at Oceanworld: not so much Free Willy as Free Jaws). He was so good at escaping his owners took him to a compound but he broke out, so they dumped him out in the sticks and he found his way home and broke back into the house. Kudos. At first they tied him up outside but he’d just yank on that chain till the links broke (as did the wall at the side of the house). Next they locked him in a shed but they came home to find him cutting the grass on their ride-on mower. I still don’t know if he found the keys or hotwired the machine – wotevvverrr, it’s all good. Locking him in the kitchen didn’t work either: he’d cracked open the refrigerator and was found watching porn in the bedroom with a sandwich. All true, I promise on my favourite squeaky toy. Hah, psyche! I don’t have any squeaky toys: I muted the suckers months ago. Some of it’s true though. He rocks.

Lesser dogs like myself have at least overcome the restraints of rope and spent many an afternoon in schools, pools or better yet, in shopping malls. Winona Ryder's got nothing on me: I’ve successfully stolen all manner of edibles and leather goods, though admittedly most security guys are either clinically obese or just plain lazy. I’ve seen sloths move faster.

Leashes are usually a “walk in the park” to escape. I favour the head backwards method. Chances are you’re gonna be let loose to play so it’s not the best use of your energy. Once you’re free though run Forest run and don’t look back. If they like you enough they’ll put up cutesy posters and find you and if they don’t..... well they obviously didn’t like you that much anyway. Get over it.