Saturday, August 24, 2013

Paris, Je T'aime!

Salut! From the land of fabulous fromage que j'adore, je vous salute you. I am in Paris and I love Paris for many reasons, first off being that I can pretty much show up anywhere unencumbered by rules. Everybody welcomes me, little old ladies love me, I rule le metro, where I can travel sans bag. My owners have yet to take me to La Tour D'Argent, but they are always slow to catch up. Meanwhile, I love love love the Parc Buttes Chaumont, that is, MY park, which is close to chez nous and has many splendored hilly lawns where I play cherche la bal and bark at trash bags.
In fact, I have become a bit of a French salope because snotty teenager that I am, I now growl at everything and everyone, including little old ladies and cute chiens. Why do I act insufferable towards the nicest people? Because this is Paris and when in Rome... 
To be fair, most people have been tres charmant. It's just me wanting to belong. Je suis une arriviste. 
Here's a picture of me at Brasserie Lipp in Saint Germain with jambon et melon, mais oui!

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

No Sick Leave For You!

Exhibit A: plate with cookie. Exhibit B: mountain. Exhibit C: good foot and bad foot.
Where does my owner get off thinking that she can leave her ball playing duties at 6 a.m. unattended?
What am I, chopped liver?
She broke her foot (second time around, same bone: what a klutz) so she comes back from surgery and stays in bed all day. Was I consulted? Did I give permission to stop catering to me? None that I recall.
The first day she was emanating such vibes of pain, I fled to the other room.
I now look in on her, give her kisses, hoping she'll get up and play. No such luck.
She suspects (sometimes correctly) that my kisses are actually ways in which I try to pry open her mouth to smell or even steal the food she should be giving to me. I also tend to try to burrow my tongue and one of my canines deep inside her nostrils. I don't understand her problem with this. Delicious. 
I am bored out of my wits.
For starters, her crutches smell uncannily like rubber balls, which are my number one obsession on Earth, so why are they in her armpits?
My bed (you heard right) has been colonized by a mountain of pillows and tubes for an ice machine and a big black limb I dare not go near to. Except, that is, to steal a cookie, in which case I gingerly surrounded the obstacle, was extremely careful not to disturb the injured foot, mind you, and climbed the mountain, to my own considerable amazement, since I am afraid of heights. I was ready to pounce, when she shooed me away with her good foot. So I bit her in the toe. Gently, as a warning. She was appalled. Called me ingrate, perfidious hound ("Ingrata, pérfida", in Spanish). Bullshit. She loves it when I am rebellious.
Well, I don't love it when she can't play. I'm letting her pet me because she claims it's therapeutic. Anything to get her out of the house with me soon.

Monday, April 29, 2013

The Last Days Of Disco

OMG! I didn't realize it's been almost a year since I last wrote. I had an acute case of writer's block, no doubt unleashed by my passage into adolescence. I am now two years old, which means that I am free to behave like a petulant teenager. I am still my sweet and bubbly self -- when I want to be. But I have also become a snob who won't play with dogs at the park (I play hard to get) and I do whatever I want.
I much prefer to hang out with humans now, because (as Enchilada thinks) I am under the impression that I am one of them.  I have trained Enchilada to take me out without fail at 7 am each morning (something she claims she never did for anybody, ever) and play ball with me. She has suffered incipient frostbite, and it doesn't matter if the night before we all went to sleep at 4 am or we had a hangover. I rise, reliably like a Swiss watch, at 7 am and she better be ready to throw that ball. I have trained her to give me a treat each time I bring her the ball. All in all, things are going pretty well.
Enchilada is mortified that I steal other dogs' toys. I may have a brand new ball in my mouth but if a dog has an old stinky one, I want it, and I get it and I never give it back. Greed is good.
But talk about mortifying! This personage here is Ttangkong, aka Peanut in Korean. He thinks he is Gloria Gaynor and this is Studio 54.
As you can see, we were not impressed.