Monday, May 31, 2010

Going gaga, ooh-la-la!

Ooh, la la! I hear we are to host a girl from Paree! Must brush up on my French as well as the particulars of my lineage. Maybe even submit to a bath in her honor.

Let's see, was it my great-great-great-great-great-great, times 10-or-so, grand-pere to whom Lafayette belonged? And what was the name of that adorable little bistro on the Left Bank where he would feast on foie gras?

Mademoiselle Marie has visited before, but she and I have not met yet. I hear she owns a horse, so she must love dogs, too, n'est-ce pas? Hope she likes them a lot, because even though Mom already warned me, I have no intention of giving up my room.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Petco unleashed: the horror

Two words: automatic doors.
Need I say more?
Although I realize I am given to blatheration, I must address my latest scare. Face my fears, yes?
'Twas a hot day. Mom says she thought it would be a great idea while, as we sashayed around town during my sister's music lesson, to stop in the new Linden Street store. Two good reasons:
1. air conditioned
2. full of treats
Seemed full of possibilities to me. We passed through the first set of doors. No problem. But as I was about to venture over the invisible threshold of the second, I heard a strange popping noise. Having experienced fireworks just a few days before, I was skittish. And remained so, stuck in a kind of automatic door limbo, 'twixt and 'tween the two sets.
Despite the valiant, patient and kind efforts of the Petco staff, who even proffered an entire bag of treats, tried new leash configurations, backrubs, sweet talk, and the trail o'treats, I was not to be swayed. I knew better. Something scary was in there!
Consolation prize: three pig ears.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

In which I am injured, body and soul

I don't know what came over my girl Miss L— last week, but suddenly she turned on me. The result: a fat lip, and a bit bloody, too. My first injury, wounding not only body but soul.

It happened this way. At a very sniffy patch in the road, its appeal puzzling to my human handler (Dad), but who humored me nonetheless, I stopped to enjoy myself. I was out walking with Dad, Miss L—, and her Mom, D—. For some reason, Miss L— became incensed. Perhaps I was not paying attention to her lovely and appealing scent? Was it a crime that I found someone else's more intriguing? It could have been a passing fancy, but she gave me no time to explain.

I couldn't see the problem. After all, we're not affianced or anything, just neighbors. It's a kind of girl-next-door thing, you know. She's cute and everything, but do I really want to be tied down, at this stage in my young life?

Whatever my perspective, Miss L— completely lost her veneer of cool, and pounced. Right in the kisser. Ouch.

Friday, May 7, 2010

Give me an inch, and I'll take...the Plop O'Doom

I've been thinking, and you know that always leads to trouble.

This morning I was walking around Lake Waban. Well, not all the way around, because partway, I heard what sounded like a shot, so I performed a perfect Plop O'Doom and pointed northward. Mom, of course, wanted to head south, along the lake and drink in the view.

Once my alarm was assuaged, I decided it would be far better to gallop over the boardwalk, fling myself over the bridge, and drink the water.

Guess who won?

My thinking is, rather than actually wait for someone to give the inch, just take the mile. After all, what would I be waiting for? I know I'm going to win anyway, so why not take what's rightfully mine?

Mom has been threatening to call Cesar Millan. I say, bring him on. He will never have met as stubborn a dog. Or as wily. Here's my plan. Cesar comes. I put on my recalcitrant show, then make him think that he's master of me. He feels good, I suffer, but only briefly. What's a bit of tarnished pride?

Then, Cesar the Great leaves, and I go back to my true, obdurate, stubborn, smart, and very handsome, self. No measurement needed.

Speaking of inches, even though Dr. S tried really hard to come up with a medical reason for why I continue to put on some poundage, it turns out I am perfectly well. The result of the weigh-in? Let's, let's not.