I bet you're surprised to hear from me again. Like you, I imagined death would be an event with quite a degree of finality to it. What did I think would happen? Well, in my last few days Wal spent a lot of time whispering to me about doggy heaven, and how beautiful it would be, with miles and miles of green fields, and no shortage of butts to sniff and turd to roll around in. This of course I took to be complete bollocks, because the old boy, for all his caring nature and all that, didn't really have a clue about our ways. Oh, he was nice and kind for sure, but like most humans he was woefully inadequate when it came to satisfying the deeper needs of a canine.

We like to engage in philosophical discussion regularly, trying to answer the same questions that many humans grapple with - why are we here, where do we eventually go to, and what the hell was that Mary Whitehouse person all about. During my time with Wal I did manage to get some quality time with other like-minded dogs, particularly that stroppy boxer from over near the park. He had some interesting thoughts on Jung, and also some pretty radical theories on the value of piss stains on tree trunks as an art form. We could have talked for hours, but Wal was always dragging me away too soon, off to get locked up again while he swanned off into town to do whatever he did there.

For a while I had a close friend over the back fence. Don't ask what breed he or she was, or even the aroma of his/her butt, but in the late afternoons we used to get quite heavily into the afterlife. And I'll let you into a secret - that so-called barking is more expressive than any of the gibberish you humans call the English language. Quite why you lot haven't picked up even a shred of a pattern to it is beyond me. Human language is a doddle regardless of the language (except perhaps ancient Mandarin, which has some tricky inflections). The pitch and tone is a bit of a give-away in trying to understand dogs, but I really don't think anyone has really tried. Too busy with the dolphins and whales, who I will admit have a lot of interesting stuff to say on the subject of fish, but like to confuse the humans by talking like imbeciles whenever they are being taped. If they ever analysed cats they'd get a nasty shock. Those stupid pricks have spent 25 thousands years refining the art of saying "feed me" and "fuck off".

Anyway, so I died. No biggy. Just a sleepy feeling, then I woke up feeling all floaty. It was like I was nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Quite peculiar for a while, but I came to like it, as it was very much akin to what I always thought the birds must feel. No wonder they are such an arrogant bunch, always taunting you and saying things like "I can see your house from here, and there's an alsatian pissing on the front fence". The colours of the world are a bit different too, all swirly and mixed in, much like in that crap after-life movie with Robin Williams. Shit that guy used to get on my tits, thank Lassie I don't have to sit through any more of his movies. And speaking of Lassie, I'd always thought that in doggy heaven I might bump into her, (or him, as it turns out), but all that is just a myth. There is nothing but you and the floaty feeling. And when I say "you", all that exists is just a "feeling", as my good old body was left behind. Wal burnt it, and keeps the ashes in the side pocket of his Turtles bag. He just can't get used to going to a game without me I guess.

Now I mentioned just before about being "nowhere and everywhere". This all relates to thoughts. I can impose myself into the thoughts of a person or animal at anytime, but recently I've found that to be a potentially unpleasant experience. Most humans are obsessed with money and sex, and you'd be surprised how nasty and aggressive many animals are - wetas for example are really vicious little fuckers. For a while I popped into Wal' s thoughts. That is OK at home because he is all calm and serene, but at work he is aggressive and driven, almost completely obsessed with his job (which appears to be some sort of liaison role between the senior management of a big company and all the attractive young women who work there). Either that, or he has been asked to keep a very close eye on their clothing. So I generally just float around, and wait until someone thinks of me. At that point I go to where that person or animal is. It has been quite flattering to be thought of so often by some of my old doggy friends whilst they are in the act of rogering some bitch, or a human leg. Or anything really. My old boxer mate has a toy stuffed giraffe that I see a lot of. Not so pleasant is being brought into the mind of that pathetic runty feline up the road as it takes the life of a poor little mouse, with a slow bite through the guts. Actually mice are quite funny when they are about to be slaughtered. None of that desperate screaming you might expect - it's all about negotiation for them, offering up the whereabouts of a nest of little babies in exchange for leniency, or offering to wash the cats arse for a year, that sort of thing. Pity the thick-as-shit cats can't understand a word of it.

Wal of course thinks of me when he drives to footy on Saturday, so I get to see the games at least. I'm in his thoughts right through a game, and for a while at the drinks afterwards too, until the second beer takes effect and his mind wanders to the cleavage of some strumpet in sales. The lads just don't seem to be into it so much since I died. I like to think that they have lost their talisman (moi), and therefore don't really believe in themselves anymore. But when the game starts and you have Lawrie and Frank as a strike force, the mood in the rest of the team is understandably grim. As with most games recently, this meant the midfield and defence where in for a busy day. And the oppo weren't bad. They seemed to have recruited well since last year. (Or is it just that we are so much weaker). Either way they had the run of midfield. Murray, assisted by GT, mostly just chased around. Tel and Dodge were busy from the start, and Snout was having to deal with some tough crosses. My beloved Wal reffed, no doubt to ensure that the games was nice and gentle, just the way he liked it. He told off his own team for making some rather rough looking tackles, which is just not nice. And then he gave a pen against Simon, just to reiterate his point.

An oppo foward had nearly got past big Si, and he needed to lunge for the ball, which he says he got. Unfortunately the forward did a "broken back" dive, Wal was fooled, and the pen was duly converted, Snout falling the wrong way. Their second goal was down to some lard-arse defending by Dodge, and a good finish past the advancing Snout. Their third was again a dubious piece of reffing, this time by Weasel. He gave a "studs up" free-kick against Si, even though he wasn't wearing any. And then the free kick was taken whilst the ball was rolling. Still, all that doesn't excuse Snouters fumbled save, and the fact that the only player alert to the rebound was an attacker. Amongst all this Telboy went off with, well, who knows, and there was some comical defending by Stevie H. First an airball, as a dribbly shot came towards the far post (it then hit the post), and later a clearing header went suspiciously close to an own goal. Away from the danger area, as in up the other end, a rare attack saw a ball curled into the oppo area. As Dodge inevitably shouted "that's to no-one!", Frank was clear in the box (again). He stuffed it up, (again) but the defender slipped and handled. Weasel took the pen, and scuffed it into the bottom corner. Frank, to be fair, was running around earnestly, whilst Lawrie was just earnest. Finally Wal came on, and provided some thrust up the right. This allowed others to get forward a bit, but any half openings were squandered. At half-time, I felt Wal's grip on things slip, and before the second half started I was gone, off to watch my boxer friend shag a pillow.