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.

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.

What Would Emily Post Do?

Yesterday, I was taken for the very first time in my life to the Washington Square small dog run. Oh my effing God! You see, I am used to play with dogs on my turf, but this was like going to a party where you don't know a soul. As you might understand, it can be a little overwhelming. Happily, my old friend Buddy was there. Problem with Buddy is, even though he is immensely patient with me when I jump all over his face, he really likes Enchilada better (he thinks she's got treats). So the moment he sees her, he ignores me. But he is a really cool, wise old guy. Well, he was the only dog I knew in this shindig.

My man Buddy

I must confess that, uncharacteristically for me, at first I was rather bewildered. What was this place full of tiny ass-sniffing dogs? Where were the big dogs? Why? So in order to assess the situation calmly I did hide under a bench for a couple of seconds. Once I realized that in social situations everyone is insecure, I thought, what the heck, let's give this thing a try. I'm an extremely friendly and sociable person. I have to personally greet every dog, human or foot that walks my way. So I got out from under the bench and started socializing (no opening vodka tonics for me, as Enchilada advises when under stressful social situations). I forgot all about my owners (we'll come back to this in a moment) and started trying to make friends. As I said, there was a lot of aimless bum sniffing but not too much play action. There were two bigger dogs who were the only ones playing. I tried to join them but they completely ignored me. Some people have no social graces.

 Can I play with you guys?

There was this tiny old guy whose owner said he loves humans but hates dogs. I tried to have a conversation, but he was standoffish and snippy. There was this really snotty black poodle whose owner was as insufferable as her. What are you gonna do? 

Winston was too busy chomping on his cigar

Buddy's mom (she's a cool lady) was telling Enchilada (who was worried about me being miserable. As if), that I was taking very good care of myself, since I promptly forgot all about her. I am an independent minded person. I am not clingy. I don't hide behind anyone's legs. A free spirit with good manners, if you will.

Hi! My name is Petra...

What do you think of David Cameron and the hacking scandal?

As for Enchilada, let me tell you. First she was saying they should not take me to the dog run because I might catch something (even though they've poked me enough with the darn vaccines already). Then the minute we got there, she wanted out. She liked the dogs, she said, but hated the people. Entre nous, Enchilada is deathly afraid to be confused with a classic New York dog owner, a breed of human who, according to her, is one step away from a straitjacket and a room at Bellevue. She doesn't want to be perceived as the poor old middle aged lady who talks too much to her dog and applies cheap Cesar Milian dog psychology to every canine reaction. Ha!* Too late! 

I did my best.

Being social can be exhausting in New York City.

* Ha ha ha ha ha ha haha haha haha!

Life in the Jet Set

Yesterday was a very glamorous day. My social calendar was full.  I took my second cab ride. It's like a couch that moves.

The paparazzi are just too much!

We went to meet my new friend Hazel, who happens to own a fabulous roof with a fabulous view in Midtown. She is very sweet, and totally unpretentious, but like all big dogs, she didn't cozy up to me as fast as I wanted her to (perhaps it doesn't help that by way of introduction, I jumped all over her face). But soon enough my endless grovelling charms (actually, my yellow toy) won her over, and we became fast friends.

Wherever she went, I went. I ate her food, drank her water; she played with my toy. I had a ball!

Here's Hazel playing hard to get.

Hazel's dad, Anthony, gave me the equivalent of my first Cuban cigar, a delicious thing as good as the finest Macanudo. Apparently, this thing is made from a bull's penis, whatever that means. Only the best for me!

Winston Churchill, move over.

I promptly managed to lose the fabulous thing down one of the floor's wooden slats. However, my resourceful mom rescued it for me. Twice.

Chillin' by the ice.

 I did not pay the slightest attention to my minders for hours. I forgot they were there. Who needs them?

Hazel and moi.

Gunfight at the OK Corral

My first squirrel, ladies and gentlemen. Improbably, I had not seen a one since arriving to this fair and hellishly hot city a month ago.
What are those, like cute rats with furry tails?
I saw it, it saw me. It climbed up a tree and we stared each other down. I can do lots of things but climbing up a tree ain't one of them. If it hadn't been for Enchilada's fast grip on my smiley face leash, I'd have run in hot pursuit.
Here I am, stalking a blueberry:

Monkey Business

Yesterday they went to the movies and when they came back, their eyes were swollen and they were blowing their noses and they were crying! Heartbroken! I thought it was their guilt for leaving me at home, but it turns out they saw a movie about a chimpanzee called Nim, that made them very, very sad. Enchilada was repeating her mantra that people should leave animals alone, that what vanity and nerve (or as that bitch calls it, Choot-spa) humans have to think that they can lord over us. She doesn't buy the "but you give love to the animals and they love it" theory. She thinks animals should be with animals, and we can all get along, but to each his own. She went into a tirade about not separating animals from their kind. I agree with that, but I'll take New York with these two, over Caracas with my parents and brothers and sisters any time.
That poor chimp. I hope they don't decide to teach me Esperanto or something and I end up in a cage. I would never forgive them.

My First Bath

Or, what fresh hell is this?
I went from looking like a particularly grungy denizen of the East Village, to looking like a lady at the Ascot races. But what happened in between was rather dismal. My owners, of course, thought it was a hoot. I beg to differ. I liked the part when they dried me out with a towel. The rest is overrated.

WTF?

Yesterday I met a "pure" Yorkie called Miette. The owner quickly pointed out it means "morsel" in French and stated that it doesn't look like I am a pure Yorkie, because of my floppy ears, but that I have a beautiful face. Well excuuuuse me.
Miette is 4 years old and is, believe it or not, half my size. She is impeccably groomed. Her hair cascades around her dainty little face and her coat is even and coiffed and a beautiful tan and silver. She is totally obedient, unlike me and my rebel streak. We played a little, so she was cool. But then apparently she had an appointment at the community garden. Ces't la vie.
After my bath I look like a million bucks myself.

Punk East Villager From Astor Place or Lady Astor?

 You be the judge.

Dog Eat Dog. Not.

Actually, they did not serve me a nice hot dog yesterday, not even a scrap of chorizo, at my very first barbecue and social outing of the Summer, where I must say I had pretty much everybody in thrall. For my charming entertaining efforts I was given puny treats, because one of my minders neglected to bring my dinner (sheesh!) and finally I got some fabulous grilled chicken made by a hero who stood behind the smoke and burning coals the entire evening.
Today, even though Enchilada is bent on making me poo, I am not just going to do it any time SHE wants. Since they put me on that malignant leash, I find pooing rather intimidating. Whereas au naturel suited me much better. Oh, well. Let the chips fall where they may.
As I was saying, the BBQ was oodles of fun, especially getting to meet the fabulous Hunter, a one year old mighty human who became my best pal. Enchilada kept comparing us to his poor mother. It is true we are both fearless and adorable. People were watching us play and someone was screaming for someone to shoot us for our 15 minutes of viral fame on You Tube, but everybody was too hypnotized to do anything about it. One thing I will say about Enchilada, she is not a stage mother. She actually barely suffers (rather gamely, I must admit) all the oohing and aahing I elllicit from every single bystander.  I suspect that all she wants is some of all that attention for herself. I pity her. She is used to be the center of attention, but not any more. I can't imagine what that feels like.
I have to ask my dear uncle Alex, the most gracious host, on the most fabulous rooftop in Brooklyn (I like Brooklyn!) on the most amazing Summer day so far, to send me the pictures of me with my adoring fans so you guys can see them.

Exhibit A

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the offending cat collar:

If this is not an affront to canine dignity and freedom, I don't know what is.

No Justice, No Peace!

Anger Management

Enchilada is angry at me for a variety of reasons for which I am not in the least culpable:

1. It's not my fault they don't know how to communicate. They are not very precise with peeing times. I let them know I'm about to let loose and one of them thinks I want to play, the other one gives me food. Idiots. One of them is like a Swiss watch, and the other one has no sense of time. Then they give me grief because I pee inside (tiny droplets, mind you, by the stink they raise you would think it's Lake Titicaca). Between the two of them they are lucky their house is not a pee water park yet.

2. Did I ask for a leash? Whence this newfangled leash thing? I do not appreciate the stupid red collar with, are you sitting down? a little rattle bell. I sound like a mono version of Santa's sleigh. To add insult to injury, it's a cat collar, because the dog collars are too big for my neck.
What am I, an elf?
I loathe the leash. Before, I could just dart like a maniac (and I am fast) after dogs, pigeons, joggers, strollers, busy New York people texting. Cars? What are cars? I am fearless. And up to yesterday, I was free. Now they think they can control me with this instrument of torture. But I'm not stupid. I sit back, refuse to move, and the collar slides off my head, presto. That'll show them who's boss.

3. Enchilada thinks I don't know how she feels about me. She claims she has no life anymore. She's blaming me for her writer's block with her screenplay -- the nerve. She says she is bored and wants her life back. She claims she was perfectly happy without me. Then don't try to make nice when I come home, 'cause you hurt my feelings. I didn't ask to come here, and though I'm really digging it, she should take a chill pill. Enchilada is fun to play with (she's good at improvising toys), but she hates that I bite her toes. Next time, don't paint your toenails shocking pink, lady.

Just for the record: I am THREE MONTHS OLD. So excuse me if I don't yet master human, okay?  Excuse me if I can't make a dry martini and read Proust.
Has she deigned to inform you that I happen to sleep all night long? What human baby my age sleeps all night? Hey, what 3-month old baby is toilet trained? Exactly. Zero.
I rest my case.

My Anthem

(Can? Anybody? Find meee? Somebody toooo? Gnaw)
Oooh oooh oooh ooh...

Each mornin' I get up I bite a little
They can barely stand on their feet
Take a look (take your sole) in the mirror and cry
Petra what are you doing to my feet?
I have spent all my teeth gnawing at you
But I just can't get no relief!
Lord!
Somebody, somebody, ooh somebody, somebody
Can anybody find me somebody to gnaw?
 

Yeah.
I gnaw hard (she gnaws hard) every day of my life
I gnaw till I chew on their bones
At the end (at the end of the day) I take home
my hard earned treats all on my own
I get down on my knees
And I start to bite
Till the tears run down from their eyes
Lord! Somebody, (somebody) ooh, somebody
Please anybody find me: somebody to gnaaaaaw aaaww?
(She gnaws hard)
Everyday!
I bite and I bite and I bite
But everybody wants to put me down
They say I'm goin' crazy
They say I got a lot of puppy chow in my brain
Got no common sense
I got nobody left to belieeeeeeeeve!
(chow chow chow chow)

[INSERT BRIAN MAY'S AWESOME GUITAR SOLO HERE]

Ooh somebody, ooh somebody:
Anybody find me sooome-body to gnaw!
(Can anybody find me someone to gnaw?)

I feel I got no rhythm
I just keep losin' their feet (she just keeps losin' and losin'!)
I'm okay, I'm alright (she's alright she's alright)
Ain't gonna face no defeat
I just gotta get out of this prison cell
Someday I'm gonna be free!
LORD!

Find me somebody to gnaw
Find me somebody to gnaw
Find me somebody to gnaw
Ahahaahooo!
Find me somebody to gnaw
Find me somebody to gnaw (find me find me find me)
Find me somebody to gnaw
Find me somebody to gnaw
Find me somebody to gnaw gnaw gnaw gnaw
Find me somebody to gnaw
Find me somebody to gnaw 
(ooh, hooh hooh hooh hooh, hooh hooh hoo!)
Somebody SOMEBODY somebody SOMEBODY somebody find me
somebody find me somebody to GNAW
Can anybody find me:
Somebody toooooooooo
GNAAAAAAAAAAAAAW.

A Night at The Opera

Enchilada is always sticking her nose in facebook and it's a big deal to get her to play with me (she tires easily). But today she was checking other people's lives and listening to an aria by Michael Nyman and my ears went BOOM! What is that amazing high pitched noise? Loved, loved, loved that singing. Then she realized that I was transfixed by it so she went into Pandora, created a Maria Callas station and first thing I know, that incredible, very sad song from Madame Butterfly. I like it, don't get me wrong, but I kinda like modern, minimalist stuff better. Then Enchilada has the nerve to start singing opera to me. Apparently she has no sense of ridicule.

Whose Big Birthday Is It Today?

Hmm... they didn't go to work this morning. Everybody was grilling yummy stuff on the streets! Whose humongous party is this and where can I get an invite?
First, they took me to the High Line, the new section. Dogs are not allowed in there, but at first I was in my RV. We came in on 30th St and walked with me on my mistress' arms and nobody said anything until we were caught by a Parks lady all the way down by 16th st. The Parks lady had a point. What's fair is fair. So down we went by The Standard and it was my first time at the meatpacking district. I liked! However, I must say it was too hot! I was shvitzing and my RV was like a sauna, so I did not have such a great time. I couldn't chew the flowers, dart after people's feet or go crazy playing as I usually do. But the humans were in love with that park in the sky.  They dropped me off at home (I hate it when they do that) and they went without me to Chinatown. Not fair. But I have to admit that here at home it was very comfy and cool and because of that I did not pee (that they could tell) or poo inside.  And then we all went up on a roof, and what do you know? Crazy booms and blasts and flowers of light in the sky. I got very mortified at first and my heart was racing fast, but I was also looking at those sparkly things (I'm no chicken. I'm pretty fearless). Then we stepped back from the ledge a little and I felt a little safer (I don't trust that they will not drop me on my head. They are a bit clumsy sometimes when I squirm like a live clam cause I wanna get down). Then I thought, okay, enough with the giant sparklers, been there done that. You see one firework, you've seen them all. I went right to sleep as the humans hooted and hollered. They get excited over the weirdest things!

Humans Are Obsessed With Poo

Okay. Someone please explain to me the big deal with the peeing and the pooing. 'Cause it just don't make any sense to me. Every twenty minutes they scoop me up and take me down as if the house was on fire and then they put me on the street as if they are waiting for the Second Coming of Christ. I pee, and they almost throw a parade in my honor. Such celebration! But I do the same at home (which as far as I can tell is much less inconvenient for everyone) and they get all bent out of shape about it! They pretend to be really angry and get all serious and yell NO, PETRA! (but I can tell it breaks their hearts to read me the riot act. I just look at them with my big round eyes and I cock my head to the side and they virtually dissolve).
So make up your minds! When I do it at home I'm saving you the trouble of taking me out. And what's three little drops of pee to you anyway? You got the Windex thing going on and it seems to be working. Stop the drama.
The poop, I understand, is another matter. That's kinda gross even to me. But the other night they had the audacity to go to the movies and they left me all alone in this huge apartment, so I'm like, you cannot expect me to hold it in (or perhaps you can, but I'm not gonna). You cannot leave me here all by myself and go to the movies. You don't do that to a two month old baby. So I did it on the carpet. Maybe they'll think twice about not taking me to the movies ever again.

Because I'm Worth It

The very official looking customs agent at the big airport was so thrilled with me, he took his glove off to pet me. I have that effect on people. They all go "OMG! SOOOO CUUUUUTE!" every time they see me. My owners say they can't walk two steps without someone stopping by and asking about my age, gender, breed. "Is it a puppy?", they ask. No, it's a dinosaur, what do you think?
Enchilada confessed that she was happier when she didn't have all the neighbors cooing and making small talk at all times. Imagine, she hasn't even brushed her teeth or combed her hair (as if) and she needs to get into some inane dog chitchat first thing in the morning; when B.P (Before Petra), she could be a verbissener New Yorker who barely said "good morning" in the elevator. She claims she liked her anonymity then. She thinks that this is how supermodels or movie stars must feel at all times and claims she was invisible until I came along. Hey, it's not my fault that I'm a charmer. If you don't like this, you should have gotten a tarantula.

Dear Diary:

They put me inside the belly of a plane in a cage for three hours. Did they tell me where the hell we were going? No. Did they ask me if I wanted to go anywhere, let alone emigrate? I know they mean well, but you don't put a two month old baby in a cage. They got me out in Miami, and from there I traveled coach. Not bad, but if you ask me, it's not that different from cargo. There is actually more leg room in cargo.