Hey guys! Ella here. Mom said since I’m pretty much the cutest pup on the planet (modest, too), y’all might want to know how I’m faring here in my transition from country girl to city dog. So I’m here to tell ya.
San Francisco’s pretty sweet. Other than the loud noises and sirens, but I’m getting used to them—I suppose—and then you get views such as these which pretty much make up for all the bad stuff.
(Don’t mind the fact that I look like I want to stab someone here. I may act all tough, but I have a severe case of acrophobia.)
As far as sleeping goes, I was doing awesome until Mom went and left me for the tropics for a week. After she came back, in a vindictive turn of events, I decided it would be fun to bump up my 6am wake-up time to 3:30! And since we have neighbors, they couldn’t very well just let me cry, so someone always came to tend to me (or squirt me with a water bottle to try to shut me up—to no avail). As a result, Mom and Dad would walk around like zombies for a few days, while I would go find someplace to hide and go back to bed at 8am and sleep away the day. Ha! That’ll show them.
But after I got over my anger at being left alone all day for a week (Dad would like to add that he came home to play with me during his lunch break every day, but still…), I decided to ease up on them a bit. Now, I sleep all the way until 6am. They still complain on weekends, but I say beggars can’t be choosers…. Speaking of sleeping, I like to snooze all ladylike like this:
…and also pose as part of the decor.
My newest hangout, though, is inside the coffee table. I climb up and hide all stealthy like and then start to wimper when I can’t get down on my own. Hey now, six inches is a long way to fall for a pup my size (four pounds and counting!).
I like to chew on anything that will let me, but particularly Dad’s shoes. Mom says that will end as soon as my grown-up teeth all come in. Little does she know, this is just the beginning…
If I had a blog bio (ahem, get ON that, webmaster), it would say: likes anything ropelike or resembling a shoelace. This includes Mom’s hair. It smells real nice, too, like bumble and bumble. Mom says she now gets why new mothers usually go straight to the hairdresser and chop off their locks. Personally, I don’t get this; then what would be left for me to chew on??
I’ve also destroyed every nice thing anyone has bought or made for me.
Sorry, Grammie, but I heard Christmas was just three months away and was trying to get into the yuletide spirit.
When I’m bored, I like to stare at myself in the mirror—what? that wasn’t put there for me? could have fooled this vain princess—or peruse the local literature section for an entertaining read. Here, I’m trying to decide between re-reading a classic like Lassie for a third time or going a bit more low-brow and opting for a collection of Proust’s best works.
Mom and Dad try to take me everywhere if they can. I’m not always so down with that. Just the other day at Alta Plaza Park where they were playing tennis, Mom slung a noose around my neck and expected me to walk while lynched. I firmly planted all four paws on the ground and writhed in protest.
Who me, walk with my own four feet? When I could just as easily be carried and not soil my paws? What do they think I am, a circus monkey who performs on their command? The woman’s off her rocker.
Just to make sure they know who’s still in charge, I barfed all down the side of Mom’s tennis dress. And in her car, after she just got her upholstery cleaned from the past two times I blew chunks.
They claim they’re rethinking this whole parenthood business, but I know they’re full of it. I’m the best thing that happened to these two since, well, each other. Duh.
Speaking of that old witch, once a week or so, she likes to drown me. Even though I’m an indoor dog and keep my coat clean on my own. And as if I weren’t already embarrassed enough for one day, Mom deigned to carry me down to the laundry room while she did seven loads. I shook like a leaf the whole time. She (wrongfully) thought I was deterred by the washing machine. Psst. It was hardly that; I simply didn’t want to be seen doing the work of a peasant. A girl of my pedigree should not be reduced to such ridicule—I have people to do such commoners’ chores for me.
But in general, I’m a pretty happy dog.
They both claim it’s hard to be in low spirits with me around. I could have told them that.
You’ll be pleased to hear I’m already the most popular girl on the block. (As if that comes as a big surprise.) My neighbor friends Laura and Linda come by to see me at times, and this lovely lass is already my best lady. Mom says I might get to stay with her while she and Dad are at a wedding next month. (Moose, please save me! Get me away from these tyrants!)
I also have a BFF upstairs named Wiggles. We like to engage in good-natured boxing matches from time to time.
Last week, I made my first jaunt over to Marin County to my new friend Harriot’s house. There was a yard and leaves for me to nibble on and quail to terrorize. It was my first time really experiencing this squishy green stuff. At first I was a bit unsure about the new terrain, but I adapted pretty quickly.
There were also more pretty ladies like Katy for me to nibble. She tastes like Fritos.
Mom said her friend Matt probably wouldn’t dig me. He’s far too macho to be seen cuddling a fluffy white pup. But just like everyone else I cast under my spell, he was reduced to a pile of soggy Kibble within a few short moments of making my acquaintance.
Being this cute takes its toll (lest you think me a dog of leisure). After awhile entertaining the masses at the cookout, I was in serious need of a libation. Lucky for me, Dad’s pretty generous with his brewskie. (Underage drinking! Quick, someone alert the SPCA!)
While the grown-ups were in the dining room eating and being silly, they left me tethered to the cooler in the kitchen. How rude! Luckily, this young pup rescued and invited me to watch Gossip Girl with her. One question lingered in my mind: Will Serena and Dan ever get their act together and realize they’re meant to be?
I’ve got a lot more to share—like my reunion with my blood bro Marley yesterday, which didn’t quite go as planned—but frankly I can’t be bothered. There’s a disemboweled primate in my direct line of vision, and it’s calling my name. Cheeky little monkey.
Mom and Dad are starting puppy classes with me this week; they say it will help me be less naughty. (Side note: Does this look like the face of the mischievous to you? I thought not.)
Pish posh. I’m just excited because I hear that means lots of treats to eat and butts to sniff. I’ll let you all know how that goes…
P.S. I do accept tips in the forms of treats or monetary gifts. My services aren’t free, yo.