you think you got trouble?

Hey Miss Pampers, or is it pampered?  Whine, whine, whine.  You think you've got trouble (OK you are trouble)  Get this, the other day my (so called) mistress took all my chewy, gooey toys and had the housekeeper throw them in the washing machine them so they came out all shiny and clean.  Months of saliva and a patina of yummy dirt and heaven knows what from the poop and pee palace (that's Central Park to you) washed away in an instant and I was left with a mass of rubbery replicas of hamburgers and chickens that smelled like NOTHING!!  And get this, they didn't even squeak anymore.  And then she had the nerve to throw them for me. Does she expect me to chase a rubber chicken? Honestly I balked and lay down in a corner so they would leave me alone when don't you know the dreaded Dr M, the dog therapist showed up to give me a session.  So now I am hiding under the bed and every time he calls my name I growl.  Uh- oh he is crawling under the bed.  This is so humiliating.  More later...  BF

Note to bitch-on-frisee

Why would you be on frisee anyway?  I am on prozac and prime rib puree.  You think you have trouble, my name is Trouble, first last and always.  Believe me, a multimillion dollar trust fund is not all it is cracked up to be.  How many chew toys and bully sticks can you go through a day? Honestly, I wouldn't mind a walk in Central Park  attached to anyone even an indicted sex fiend, a chance to smell the roses and anything else my heart desires, mingle with the mutts maybe get in a game or two.  But they keep me locked up in this climate controlled, satin lined penthouse with wee pads and animal planet on 24/7.  Count your blessings bitch!

pooch post number one

   I am delighted to find this marvelous blog with a pooch post.  Imagine. I was idly googling myself while my masters were out doing whatever they do when they leave the house without me and there was a blog about me MINI ME the BICHON FRISEE belonging to the formerly hyperactive Attorney General of New York.  The kind and obviously empathic writer bemoaned my fate having to walk four times daily tethered to scandal ridden former high official whose very presence evokes intense reactions from revulsion to nasty snickers.

   Fear not, dear Reader.  I do not share his humiliation.  I don't actually think he shares it either being a well developed egomaniac, take it from me, I have lived with him for many years.  When we sense the wave of disapproval and schadenfreude washing towards us on the paths of Central park we stiffen our backs, stick up our nostrils and occasionally one of us emits a small stream of pee to mark our passage.  Guess who