I ate a SPIDER.

It was in the kitchen, walking along the floor. I was like, “the floor belongs to ME, buddy”, but it ignored me so I STALKED it. I stalked it like a TIGER, and then, when it was least expecting it, I POUNCED and caught it in my mouth. Then I ate it. It’s in my BELLY now, which is a bit weird really, but still – I’M the pet in this house, anything else that tries to come into my territory, whether it be fat kids or spiders, gets it.

Sooo, not a lot happening. The thing that’s really bothering me right now is the “teevee”. Now, I had never really paid the “teevee” any mind before. It’s more Terry’s thing than mine; he’ll sit and stare at it for HOURS, but I always just figured that was because Terry’s just a big bag o’ lazy. But then the other night it was on, and I noticed that there were some tiny dogs trapped inside it…

Well. I ran over and put my paws on it, barking to frighten them. Sure enough, they skeddadled – they were terrified. They ran right out the back of the “teevee”, but when I ran round the back myself to get them, they were gone?

I was puzzled. Since then I haven’t been able to get those tiny dogs out of my head. Where did they come from? How did they get there? And, most importantly, where did they GO? I’ve noticed there are tiny people trapped in there as well. Like, how WEIRD is that?!

Anyway, tiny dogs aside, not a lot to report, except that today they BATHED me. (Amber and Terry did, I mean, not the tiny dogs. If the tiny dogs had bathed me that really WOULD have been weird…)That’s the second time in two weeks. They’re saying it’s because it’s “winter” now and I keep getting muddy. Yeah, well, I been diggin’ me a hole. Been up to my neck in mud every night this week, and what thanks to I get for it? They BATH me. Huh.

Everything you need to know (and some things you really DON’T need to know) about the Rubinman, by Amber…

Q. What IS Rubinman?
A. Good question. Rubin is a pure-bred Bichon Frise (say “beezjon freesay”). He is NOT a poodle, although many people mistake him for one. He bites the bums of people who say that, though, so I’d watch it if I were you.

Q. Was Rubin REALLY raised by wolves?
A. He claims to have been. We bought him from a woman in Dalkeith, but I GUESS he could have lived with wolves before that…

Q. How old is the Rubinman?
A. Rubinman was born on January 15th, 2003. Be sure and send him presents. He’s all about the presents.

Q. Why is he always so dirty?
A. Because the Rubinman, he likes to dig. And pee. Sometimes on himself.

Q. Does Rubin REALLY write his journal himself?
A. Despite a lack of opposable thumbs, yes, it’s all his own work. *cough*

Q. Is the journal true? You just make it all up, don’t you?
A. Absolutely not! Again, Rubin will bite you on the bum for even THINKING that. All of the events in Rubin’s journal really happened. Even that time with the fat kids. That’s why we don’t give out our real address…

Q. Why is he called Rubin? Is he some kind of sissy-dog?
A. Rubin is named after Rubin “Hurricaine” Carter, a black fighter wrongly imprisoned for a crime he did not commit, and a man with whom the Rubinman greatly identifies.

Q. Can I write to the Rubinman?
A. Sure. Rubin loves the attention. His email address is rubin@writingworld.org. And before you ask, yes, he does check it himself.

Q. Will he write back?
A. It depends how much he likes you. Bear in mind that the Rubinman is lazy. Oh, and that he’s a DOG

Q. Can I write to Terry and Amber?
A. Well, you can if you want to. We weren’t raised by wolves or anything, though, so you may be disappointed. Reach us at info@hotigloo.co.uk

Q. Where does Rubin live?
A. Rubin’s exact whereabouts are a secret. Sometimes even to us. We can exclusively reveal, however, that the Rubinman lives in a Hot Igloo somewhere in Scotland…

Q. Why does Rubin pee so much?
A. I wish I knew. He says he’s “marking his territory”. We say he’s just a baaaaad boy.

Q. I’d like to meet Rubin, and pat his furry white head. Can I?
A. Seriously, dude, you’d regret it. He smells. You’ll just have to make do with his blog, I’m afraid…

Q. I am a book publisher/film maker and I’d like to make Rubin a star. How much money do you want?
Well, how much ya got? Make us an offer!

Q. I want a dog like Rubin! Where do I get one?
A. A Rubinman is for life, not just because you saw a cute dog on some website. Remember, a dog like Rubin takes a LOT of looking after, and they give you a lot of cheek. If you like your house nice and your shoes intact, forget it. If you’re really serious about getting a Bichon, why not think about rescuing one?

Rubinman.co.uk. Because sometimes a dog’s gotta blog…

Sing it with me: Don’t be fooled by the toys that I got/ I’m still, I’m still Rubin from the block… Hell yeah I am.

So, the other night I get back from visiting my Norma and John, and all my OLD toys - i.e. the ones that AREN’T Purple Puppets - were waitin for me, and let me tell you, those dudes were NOT happy. They were all, "Rubin, man, you’ve totally forgotten your roots. You’re all about the Purple Puppet now, what about US, the toys you grew up with?" Then they go, "we put you up there, dude, and we can totally bring you back down again, what are you without us, yadda yadda."

Let’s just get one thing straight here: the Rubinman has NOT forgotten where he came from. I may be "all that" now, and I may have a Purple Puppet and a totally spanky red coat, but I’m still, I’m still Rubin from the block. Just to prove it, here’s a little tribute to my homies:

This is my main man Buddy, my oldest pal and right hand dog:

Now, I know what y’all are thinkin. You’re all, like, “Buddy, he don’t look too good.” Yeah, well let me tell you, Buddy is WAY old: when I first arrived here in the ‘hood (if you remember, I was ADOPTED by A&T when I was a mere 8 weeks old) Buddy was right here waitin for me. Amber often tells the story of how they were so excited about my arrival that they’d sit Buddy in my bed and, like, pretend he was me and stuff. And that right there tells you pretty much all you need to know about Amber…

Anyway, yeah, so Buddy… Buddy’s been there with me through thick and thin. He was there with me when I went to Las Vegas, and he was there with me when I peed on Terry’s shirt that time. (In fact, Terry? Buddy MADE me do that. It wasn’t me, IT WAS BUDDY) I love my Buddy. Nevertheless, I still totally ripped his eyes and nose off. SO?!

This is me with my Mickey Hand:

My Mickey hand snuck into my Norma and John’s suitcase when they were in the "Yew Ess Ay" one time, and it came all the way across the ocean to be with me. It’s, like, a hand, and it squeaks. Who WOULDN’T love that?

Yeah, so this is Dead Head:

He, like, lives lives in the garden and stuff. This one time? I totally forgot that Dead Head was livin out in the garden, and I almost CRAPPED myself when I seen him. I am NOT scared of Dead Head though, because I am a WOLF. For real.

This is my PINK COW:

The pink cow is a mysterious, shady character. I say this mainly on account of the Time the Pink Cow VANISHED and was later discovered IN TERRY’S WARDROBE. How did it get there? Was the Pink Cow abducted by aliens? Did it walk there itself? Is there something Terry isn’t telling us? Dudes, we may never know.

I’ve got other toys, but I don’t want to make you too jealous, so I’ll sign off now. But remember : I used to have a little, now I gotta lot/ no matter where he goes Rubinman knows where he came from….