Hi, Doggert De Niro here, Gizmodo's resident Method canine, and the latest of Gizmodo's resident pet testers*, with the latest pet-friendly product, the dog fat counter. You may remember my predecessor, Fluffy, better. That bitch (heyyyy, just joking, people, she's a wunnerful mammal and one of the best stunt pets in the business) tested the pet life vest a couple of months back. Terrible what happened to her.
Anyways, she's no more, so it's my turn to step up to the plate. And that's just what I've been doing for the past three months, stepping up to a plate of food—three times a day, actually, such is my devotion to my craft. Originally I was cast in the role of Jake LaMutta in the big-screen remake of Raging Dog, but it fell through. Not before I had put on 14 pounds though, quite a lot when you're a mere Poodleweight.Now, where was I? Ah yeah, Raging Dog. So, my agent, Artie Schnauzer (whatta guy, you gotta love him. No, I mean it, you gotta love him, or he gives all the good roles to my rival, Al Pekeno) hunted around looking for a role that needed, how shall I put this, more... I'll just leave it at more, shall I? And this was what he came up with.
It's not quite the "Before" pic for one of those weightloss stories, but we're not far away, are we? I have become a product model for a gizmo that measures a dog's body fat. I mean, what is the point of one of these? Isn't this what the papparazzi are for? You know, when you're hanging out on Malibu beach and you get snapped looking fatter than you should be, maybe trotting when you should be running after a stick your master threw for you?
And before you know it, that little Shi-Tzu Pugrez Hilton runs the pics, saying you look like you killed your handler and ate him, let me tell you, that should be enough to get your owner to get you off the Faggioli a la Milanesa and back in the dog gym PDQ.
Sorry, where was I? Ah yes, the fat counter. So, the day of the shoot comes and off I waddle, as dignified as you can when you're carrying 25 percent more of your body fat. I'm shown to my chair with "Doggert" written on it, practicing my "Fat Dog" look when the director looks at me and shakes his head. Muttin Scorcese's his name. I'll make sure he NEVER works again. Apparently Doggert has the wrong kind of hair.
The wrong kind of hair! Well, you can probably imagine what happened next. He beckoned over the cute little bitch who'd been "looking after" me in my trailer (pale redhead that goes by the name of Marcia Crossbreed, such an accommodating girl) and says that she's up next. Something to do with her fur being easy to part.
So, I go completely pitbull on this Scorcese bloke. Me, a mild-mannered poodle. Crazy. I start biting his ankles, I leave red welts halfway up his calves, then, making sure that no one can catch me, I run into his Winnebago and I spray all over his alpaca rug. That taught him. And, while I'll probably never work again, who cares? It made me feel good. Now then, It's time for my lunch.
*For the benefit of any scientists who are reading, no, I don't do shampoo.