new foray

After hearing about some contest at Old Navy to pick the most wretchedly mundane "spokesdog" possible -- true, they didn't phrase it that way, but the entrants are simply yawn provoking -- I've decided to throw myself into the modeling field, and am confident that I can round out my already formidable resume with a photo shoot for L'Oreal or Porsche. Here's the pensive shot, in which I'm considering the inadvisability of fecal feasts in 100 degree weather. Ford Modeling: call me!

big brother/little dog is watching

Minion's blatant disregard for my well being, as demonstrated by her annoying habit of leaving to go meet people at coffee shops, of all places (quelle bourgeois), has led me to keep a closer watch on her activities. As you can see here, I am alternating between napping, and making sure she isn't using the computer in her office for setting up rendezvouses. And yes, that's a word, lunkheaded philistines. Also, this is near the air conditioning vent, so surveillance has never been so comfortable!

high cost of fame

For years, I've scoffed at celebrities who whine and pout about the paparazzi, crying foul even as they show off their hideous frocks (or thongs, in the case of Mrs. Federline). But with experience comes empathy. I can barely tread down a quiet city street without hearing the click-click-click, like a telltale heart beneath the sidewalk. Simply because I'm poised, charming, handsome, and sleek, must I be pursued endlessly? All the world is not a stage, snappers!

alien abduction?

After waking up in Minion's car -- sleeping being no small feat with her leadfoot driving -- I found myself in a sterile room, with two lovely yet syringe-carrying women advancing. So this is the "Fire in the Sky" I've been hearing about, the smattering of alien poking and prodding to determine our intelligence, the burden of terra firma dwellers who are snatched up into the heavens. After being given shots of who-knows-what, including a green substance (quelle cliche), my blood was drawn, presumably to join others in a database that will determine the fate of man and beast alike. They claimed it was for a heartworm test, foolish aliens. Don't they realize by now that even if we acquiesce to their examinations, we certainly don't believe their lies? Viva la resistance!

hail the mud king

Days of tedious rain and a tiresome post-trip cold in Minion combined for an abbreviated, but rather muddy, jaunt to the dog park. Having to make the most of the quick sojourn, I was content to roll in the dirty pools of leaves, scum, and -- fortuna smiles! -- a few dead fish. The afternoon was capped off by lounging in my slowly drying filth in the middle of the bed while Minion prepared yet another torturous bath. Hope you enjoyed the lingering mud flecks of the afternoon, Min!

game is afoot

With the realization that one needs "friends" -- in order to garner more client contacts and arrange romantic liasons, in addition to housesitting and errand running -- I've started a Sherlock Holmes Club, in which I'll be able to use my astounding intelligence to direct others under the guise of gameplay. Brilliant, really, and I can't imagine the coke sniffing, step counting, schizophrenic detective would be anything but impressed. So, if there are any Watsons willing to wither under my derision -- and I know you're out there, my darling bastions of insecurity -- please let me know your availability.

burdens of management

My demeanor might indicate otherwise, but I don't actually relish disciplining my subordinates, although I do enjoy mockery and derision. Still, sometimes a Martha Stewart-level dressdown is in order. Case in point: Minion returned from her Honduran trip not in tears from missing me, or vowing never to travel again, but rather raving about how wondrous she found the people she met, the complex and compelling balance of poverty and beauty, and some kind of empanada. It was intolerable. On with the scathing performance review and quick trip to France!