Petra & Irma: Cat In The Box

It's a mystery to me how come my sister Irma plays so hard to get. She's too cool for school, or what?

Irma here: What does this crazy fur ball want from me? I play when I see fit. Hard to get is my middle name. What's so hard to understand? Signed, Irma.

The Adventures of Petra And Irma Part I

Petra:
I have a new sister. Her name is Irma, and she is nuts. Don't be fooled by her aloofness. She is certifiable. I have to beg her to play. She pretends to ignore me. It drives me crazy but I like it.

Irma:
Can someone explain what this hairy burrito is doing? I don't get it. Thank you. Signed, Irma.

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.

Shh... We're Taking A Nap.

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.

Portrait of A Lady

Move over, Madame X. This is where elegance and poise are at.

I look like a daguerrotype.
Yours,
Petra.

p.s.: for those of you who don't remember Madame X:

This Is How You Play

My new friend Little Bear is my early morning jousting partner. As you can see, I let her think she's winning. After all, she is only a baby. Don't be fooled. I am in complete control of the situation at all times. Even when it doesn't look like it. Even when I have to hide under the bench because she scares the bejesus out of me with her youthful energy. I really like Little Bear. She knows how to play. She's a playa!
(Yes, we do feature films too. Uggy is not the only star in town, you know.)

Petra & The Gang

Me and my homies, we love grass. And by grass I don't mean that foul smelling stuff some of you humans smoke to get all loopy. By grass I mean fresh, green, fragrant, dewy grass we're not supposed to be on because of some ridiculous rule about dogs not being on grass. Dogs not being on grass is like dogs not liking bones. Impossible.
Anywho, here's the neighborhood gang. Sally (beagle-bulldog mix and my favorite female friend in the whole wide world), Daisy, who will not give me the time of day, and Sola, who is a lot of fun when she shows up. Not in the picture: Scruffy, who until yesterday that he got a haircut, truly lived up to his name.

I Love The Nightlife...

You are not the only ones who get to go out on the town, humans.
Last night I went to a bar in Williamsburg to listen to some live music from the 1930's, exquisitely sung by my friend and chanteuse extraordinaire, Ganda.
I ate many peanuts, danced with a debonair man named Doug, and I would have had a shot of whiskey if someone had the good manners to offer.
Alas, there are no pictures because the one paparazza who tried to sneak snapshots of me complained I was too wiggly.
Not content with so much excitement in one night, the minute I got home, I got my second wind.
Tonight, after coming back from my 9-month birthday celebration and Three Kings party in Queens, I rendered useless an entire pack of toilet paper, and left the living room rug looking like a feral werewolf engaged on a deathmatch with Cottonelle. I was given a risible time out in my trailer and an even more ridiculous dressing down. (It won't work unless they stop laughing while they pretend to discipline me).
Of this, there is evidence:

Here's moi, feigning innocence:

The above mess I managed right after the time out, as soon as I was out of jail. Serves them right.

Cause I love the nightlife, I like to boogie, on the disco aha oh yeah!

My Boyfriend Joe...

... is the Ryan Gosling of dogs. Which makes me the Eva Mendes of dogs. Oh yes indeed.

I'll have you know that handsome, sexy, manly Joe adores me. He chivalrously defends me from boors who want to hump me*.
Joe doesn't let anyone play with me while in his presence. He wants me for himself alone. He is an elegant, considerate player. The other day I played hard to get (we are fickle creatures us dogs) and he was literally begging me to play with him, making such a cute, unholy racket, even his charming owner asked him to muster some amour propre and stop howling like a madman. I was unmoved, busily sniffing someone else's posterior. Enchilada was upset with me for being such a tease. Of course, when Joe left, I was bereft. Serves me right. You ignore the Ryan Gosling of dogs at your own peril. 

*I have noticed that the worst offenders of humping are the fluffy dogs. You see a ball of caramel fluff coming your way, you better run, because beneath all that curly softness, there is a schmuck waiting to hump you. The fluffier the dog, the more horny they are. And because they look like a walking cloud of cotton candy, they get away with murder.

This is Not Fun

I scratched my own little cornea. This really, really sucks. You can't see it from this picture, but my left eye looks like Quasimodo. Elizabethan collar, my butt. This is torture. Can't play, can't sniff, can't scratch other important places. Hate the freaking medicine. I don't know what they want from me. Make it stop.
Signed,

Petra.

The Yeti and Me

Just back from the Himalayas where I had a tete a tete with the infamous Yeti. He provided some much needed warmth in the zub-zero weather, now that somebody sheared so much of my hair that going out to pee in the frigid November weather makes me shiver. Brrrr.

Extreme Makeover Canine Edition

Drumroll please:
My first grooming job ever.
Who do you prefer?  Boho Petra...

...or Chic Petra?

 

I like the coif, but moi, je pense que je suis plus boho que chic. 
Line up for autographs, si vous plait.  

Love,

Petra.

Roar

I snarled and growled and barked at this lion in Chinatown until it was brought to my attention that the thing was made of plaster.
How am I supposed to know that this beast is not for real?
Just don't mess with me, okay?

You talkin' to me?

Wow. A pigeon that swims. I never saw that coming.

New York, New York...

...It's a helluva town!
The Bronx is up, but the Battery's down.
The people ride in a hole in the groun'.
New York, New York, it's a helluva town!

My sentiments exactly.
Signed,

Petra. 

There's No Business Like Snow Business

Enchilada could have photoshopped out the leash so I could look more heroic, like Lassie or Rin Tin Tin, but boy, is she useless.

Snow! Snow! Snow! Snowy snow!  What the hell is this white stuff that chills my paws and makes me shake with brrrr? I like it! I like how it crunches underfoot, and I like licking it (it has a slight diesely finish, a bit of a sooty aftertaste). 
I was taken on my first outing ever to Central Park, which looked like the Big Dog in the Sky had decided to maul it. There were fallen tree branches everywhere and everybody was astonished that the trees were still green but there was snow on the ground. The day before, there was a horrible storm that Enchilada insisted on dragging me out to so I could pee and poo in it. No way in hell was I going to freeze my butt out in the howling wind and the pouring sleet, and I made that very clear to her.  See what happened to the trees!

Heroically inspecting the damage on behalf of the Parks Commissioner.

Do I look like a superhero or what? Except for that stupid leash...

What Becomes A Legend Most

"...and here is Petra wearing a fabulous cerise corduroy coat with faux shearling trim, the chicest piece of the season and her first wardrobe item ever. Strike a pose!"*

*Model's note: It was about time. I'm from the tropics and not used to these autumnal chills. This is toasty. Thank you.

Post-Op

I was spayed yesterday. That sucked. I also had some teeth removed because I didn't lose some of my baby teeth so I had two rows of teeth and looked like a piranha. Today, I'm not my usual bubbly self. It's hard to me to jump on the curb and I still like to say hello to dogs, but I can't play. I'm sore.
The doctor said one week to ten days no dog run, which is catastrophic. You mean all that time without playing with Spencer, Joe, Gracie, Buster and cute little Freddie?  As the humans say, WTF? I will be bored out of my wits. Also no bathing, so their dreams of grooming me will have to wait. In the meantime, I look like a lion who escaped from the zoo (not the one in Ohio) and is currently living under the Manhattan Bridge.
Enchilada caught me eating the remains of a cupcake paper cup from the street and when she tried to pry it away from me I snarled at her and growled at her and I bit her, for the first time ever. She was furious and she took me home and sent me to the corner (my little travel case). She thinks that the paper cupcake holder gave me a bit of a fever. I think that what gave me the fever was the stupid operation that I didn't ask for.
Oh, did I tell you that they also implanted a microchip in me? I'm bionic now. In case I get lost. I fail to see how I'm gonna get lost. My owners don't leave me alone for a nanosecond. In any case, the only thing that I'm doing normally right now is smelling every inch of space, every fallen autumn leaf, every speck of dirt and dust that I encounter.
And begging for treats.

I'm the 1%!

And you're fired!