Yo, everyone!
I apologize for not blogging in quite some time, but something has happened. Let's just say I forfeited my one phone call for the opportunity to write you this message. It is a long story, but I will tell it in full with pictures very soon.
If anyone has any soap on a rope and an extra carton of smokes, it would be much appreciated.
Until later.
Z.
Tucker and I discuss my emergency.
"You tried to call 9-1-1 to get me a mint? That's really low, chihuahua. Really low."
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
The Dangers of Retail
Okay, you've been patient, so here's the story. It has come to my attention that my Constitutional rights have been violated numerous times under the dictatorship of the man. Everyone in this house has the right to come and go as he or she pleases, including the dullard sharpherd. I, however, am only allowed to go out and about when one of the humans decides to lead me outdoors with a retractable cord attached to a silly pink harness they make me wear. Therefore I am determined to find a way I can experience the same benefits others in the home enjoy. I will be very patient, for right now it is far too cold to go outside without freezing my nipples off, but come Spring things are going to change, man.
Now to my epiphany and the escape plan...
I had spent Saturday watching with fascination this strange ritual of the Mary Kay open house. I have no idea why it is called an open house because every time I attempted my escape, the doors quickly closed. I did some investigations of the strange women who came through the doors, noticing that each one of them handed Pookie a sum of money before leaving. Naturally I concluded that money is the means to escape. I must be an indentured servant, like my great uncle Pablo!
I decided I had to come up with the green to pay my way out, so I looked at my assets. As I told you before, I have stockpiled a vast number of rawhide bones, many of which I stole from Tucker the sharpherd. I also have an extensive wardrobe, but I will need these if I decide to hit the road for any length of time. Other than these things, the only other objects in my possession are some tattered toys from which I have already removed the squeakers, rendering them worthless. Taking all this into account, I made my move.
Selling my bones was my only option. I know what you are saying...she's crazy. She risked her well-being for those bones! Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Taking inventory, I went about selecting a bone I thought would fetch a good sum or at least enough to open the front door. I found it very hard to part with any of them, so I did the only thing I could think of - I decided to sell one of Tucker's bones behind his back. I am so freakin' clever.
While Tucker was busy scratching himself (one of several deranged hobbies he enjoys), I grabbed his rawhide bone and sprinted to the kitchen. There I found an incredible array of Mary Kay displays that made everything look very appealing. I took the bone and positioned it under one of the tables so that it looked like part of the display. It was quite fetching if I do say so myself. The bone was slightly used, but anyone who was going to buy the Mary Kay face crayons was sure to instantly fall in love with the vintage, tasty bone.
I waited patiently to make a sale, but no one seemed to want to bite. I felt that maybe the customers were intimidated by me, sitting next to the bone like a used car salesman, so I left the scene for a few minutes. When I returned, the bone was gone! I looked to Pookie, who I felt probably sold the bone for me in my absence, but she paid me no mind. Someone had stolen my bone! I sniffed around the women's purses to find the perpetrator, but the bone was nowhere to be found. There was only one more explanation...
The man.
I found him upstairs with the sharpherd, who had been banished to the bedroom due to his stench, ill-manners and propensity to run in tight circles like a fool until he decides to hump the legs of strangers. The man had given the bone back to Tucker!
I demanded payment for the bone, but Tucker turned his back to me. Instantly, I confronted the man with a series of short, purposeful barks, but he was too dumb to understand me. Once again the man kept me down like I am a second-class citizen. My dream of the ultimate sale was dashed, as well as my chance for freedom. Grrrrrrrrrrr!!!
I did, however, successfully retrieve the bone itself by using my superior acting skills. I faked a hamstring injury perfectly and was given the bone to ease my pain. Tucker did not seem convinced, and the fact that the bone was transferred into my possession caused him to turn his back to me in disgust. Check out the pic. Sweet.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Z.
Now to my epiphany and the escape plan...
I had spent Saturday watching with fascination this strange ritual of the Mary Kay open house. I have no idea why it is called an open house because every time I attempted my escape, the doors quickly closed. I did some investigations of the strange women who came through the doors, noticing that each one of them handed Pookie a sum of money before leaving. Naturally I concluded that money is the means to escape. I must be an indentured servant, like my great uncle Pablo!
I decided I had to come up with the green to pay my way out, so I looked at my assets. As I told you before, I have stockpiled a vast number of rawhide bones, many of which I stole from Tucker the sharpherd. I also have an extensive wardrobe, but I will need these if I decide to hit the road for any length of time. Other than these things, the only other objects in my possession are some tattered toys from which I have already removed the squeakers, rendering them worthless. Taking all this into account, I made my move.
Selling my bones was my only option. I know what you are saying...she's crazy. She risked her well-being for those bones! Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Taking inventory, I went about selecting a bone I thought would fetch a good sum or at least enough to open the front door. I found it very hard to part with any of them, so I did the only thing I could think of - I decided to sell one of Tucker's bones behind his back. I am so freakin' clever.
While Tucker was busy scratching himself (one of several deranged hobbies he enjoys), I grabbed his rawhide bone and sprinted to the kitchen. There I found an incredible array of Mary Kay displays that made everything look very appealing. I took the bone and positioned it under one of the tables so that it looked like part of the display. It was quite fetching if I do say so myself. The bone was slightly used, but anyone who was going to buy the Mary Kay face crayons was sure to instantly fall in love with the vintage, tasty bone.
I waited patiently to make a sale, but no one seemed to want to bite. I felt that maybe the customers were intimidated by me, sitting next to the bone like a used car salesman, so I left the scene for a few minutes. When I returned, the bone was gone! I looked to Pookie, who I felt probably sold the bone for me in my absence, but she paid me no mind. Someone had stolen my bone! I sniffed around the women's purses to find the perpetrator, but the bone was nowhere to be found. There was only one more explanation...
The man.
I found him upstairs with the sharpherd, who had been banished to the bedroom due to his stench, ill-manners and propensity to run in tight circles like a fool until he decides to hump the legs of strangers. The man had given the bone back to Tucker!
I demanded payment for the bone, but Tucker turned his back to me. Instantly, I confronted the man with a series of short, purposeful barks, but he was too dumb to understand me. Once again the man kept me down like I am a second-class citizen. My dream of the ultimate sale was dashed, as well as my chance for freedom. Grrrrrrrrrrr!!!
I did, however, successfully retrieve the bone itself by using my superior acting skills. I faked a hamstring injury perfectly and was given the bone to ease my pain. Tucker did not seem convinced, and the fact that the bone was transferred into my possession caused him to turn his back to me in disgust. Check out the pic. Sweet.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Z.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Smell You Later
I do have a bit of news to report, but I am going to save it for tomorrow. I need to get some facts straight with the sharpherd and the tree before I clue all of you in to what happened today. Let's just say that I have once again been compromised, and the man has officially gone crazy.
I will be sure to give you the full scoop tomorrow. Right now I really have to poop.
Until then...
Z.
I will be sure to give you the full scoop tomorrow. Right now I really have to poop.
Until then...
Z.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Rats! Foiled Again!!!
I have officially had it with the man. I stayed up all night concocting the perfect plan, and somehow he managed to foil me once again. Fiddlesticks!!! I thought for sure this scheme would work, but I guess I'll have to go back to the drawing board.
Let me give you some insight as to what happened. The man left early this morning for his Saturday breakfast ritual, giving me time to set the wheels in motion for his demise. The door to his office, luckily for me, was left ajar, so I sneaked in undetected. Often when he sits at his computer, probably e-mailing lies about my citizenship status to the government, he listens to music using headphones. I don't know what he listens to exactly, but it is probably something that would make me howl or vomit, or both (usually not at the same time, but I've had my moments). Anyway, my plan was two-fold, and I thought for sure there was no way for him to avoid falling into my trap, for if one facet of the plan failed, the other one was sure to work.
Here was the plan. I strategically dropped a poop on the carpet right next to his headphones. I have noticed through my keen espionage in the past that he never really looks at the floor when grasping for the ear devices, so it was inevitable that he would grab onto the turd instead, perhaps mushing it in his hand and giving me a victorious chuckle and tail wag at the sight of his humiliation. If for some reason he noticed the brown dropping on the floor, the back-up plan was for him to mistake it for a Christmas kiffel or elongated cookie and take a bite out of it. I spent hours learning how to simulate the shapes of these pastries, and I can tell you with certainty that it is not easy.
Either the sharpherd or that devilish tree must have tipped him off because he did not squish it in his fingers, nor did he take a bite. Instead he went running to Pookie, tattling on me as if I was some kind of contemptuous child. Needless to say, I was found out and punished with banishment from the snuggly blankets on the people's bed.
With the blankets now an impossible dream, I was forced to put on the ridiculous Santa suit for warmth so that I did not shiver to death. Compounding the problem, Pookie and the girl decided to have some kind of crayon exhibition today, only these crayons seem to be used exclusively on the humans' faces to make them appear younger. They mentioned something about a woman named Mary Kay, and I am suspicious of this mystery woman already because she has two first names. This means she must be two-faced like the man, who gives me treats only as a means to control me. Whatever the case, in the hopes of seeing this Mary Kay woman, other females have flocked to the house in search of her mysterious facial crayons. I noticed every time a new one appears, the man and sharpherd retreat for the upstairs office. Therefore I must recruit these women, for it seems the man fears them greatly. Maybe I will build an army after all. We will first rid ourselves of the man, then the tree and the sharpherd. Victory will be so sweet.
I will be keeping an eye out for this Mary Kay; I envision her as a pink wizard who might be able to grant me three wishes. If so, I already know what I will wish for:
1. The ultimate disappearance of the man
2. A lifetime supply of rawhide bones
3. A Hannah Montana backpack
Godspeed.
Z.
Let me give you some insight as to what happened. The man left early this morning for his Saturday breakfast ritual, giving me time to set the wheels in motion for his demise. The door to his office, luckily for me, was left ajar, so I sneaked in undetected. Often when he sits at his computer, probably e-mailing lies about my citizenship status to the government, he listens to music using headphones. I don't know what he listens to exactly, but it is probably something that would make me howl or vomit, or both (usually not at the same time, but I've had my moments). Anyway, my plan was two-fold, and I thought for sure there was no way for him to avoid falling into my trap, for if one facet of the plan failed, the other one was sure to work.
Here was the plan. I strategically dropped a poop on the carpet right next to his headphones. I have noticed through my keen espionage in the past that he never really looks at the floor when grasping for the ear devices, so it was inevitable that he would grab onto the turd instead, perhaps mushing it in his hand and giving me a victorious chuckle and tail wag at the sight of his humiliation. If for some reason he noticed the brown dropping on the floor, the back-up plan was for him to mistake it for a Christmas kiffel or elongated cookie and take a bite out of it. I spent hours learning how to simulate the shapes of these pastries, and I can tell you with certainty that it is not easy.
Either the sharpherd or that devilish tree must have tipped him off because he did not squish it in his fingers, nor did he take a bite. Instead he went running to Pookie, tattling on me as if I was some kind of contemptuous child. Needless to say, I was found out and punished with banishment from the snuggly blankets on the people's bed.
With the blankets now an impossible dream, I was forced to put on the ridiculous Santa suit for warmth so that I did not shiver to death. Compounding the problem, Pookie and the girl decided to have some kind of crayon exhibition today, only these crayons seem to be used exclusively on the humans' faces to make them appear younger. They mentioned something about a woman named Mary Kay, and I am suspicious of this mystery woman already because she has two first names. This means she must be two-faced like the man, who gives me treats only as a means to control me. Whatever the case, in the hopes of seeing this Mary Kay woman, other females have flocked to the house in search of her mysterious facial crayons. I noticed every time a new one appears, the man and sharpherd retreat for the upstairs office. Therefore I must recruit these women, for it seems the man fears them greatly. Maybe I will build an army after all. We will first rid ourselves of the man, then the tree and the sharpherd. Victory will be so sweet.
I will be keeping an eye out for this Mary Kay; I envision her as a pink wizard who might be able to grant me three wishes. If so, I already know what I will wish for:
1. The ultimate disappearance of the man
2. A lifetime supply of rawhide bones
3. A Hannah Montana backpack
Godspeed.
Z.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Close Call
It is no secret that I love people food, and I am willing to do almost anything to get it. Tonight the people were sitting in front of the tv, watching "Two And a Half Men" and eating Italian food that smelled just heavenly. Unfortunately for me, my nose pointed me toward the man once again, and he sat there taunting me with a calzone bigger than my body and stuffed with pepperoni, meatballs, sausage and three cheeses. I had one of two choices. I could have sat there and appealed to him with my blue steel look (check out my pic - boo yeah), or I could have taken him out once and for all. I would have chosen the latter, but I was unable to cause him to choke on one of the meatballs. I am also sad to report that I did indeed try blue steel, and for the first time ever, I was unsuccessful. The man is simply an enigma.
Like I said, I'll do almost anything for human food, but one thing I will not do is sacrifice my personal dignity. Tucker, however, has none whatsoever. In an attempt to secure some of the human food, the sharpherd, in all his wisdom, decided that sprinting around the living room in a circle like a three-legged, cross-eyed, rabid, retarded dingo on crack was just the thing to impress the man and earn a bite of the calzone. Worried the dim-witted man would fall for this, I attempted to interfere by stationing myself in the middle of the living room. Terrible mistake - I found myself amidst a hurricane of legs and almost became a casualty in the process. Luckily for me, I was able to dive under the coffee table and sneak back upon the couch as Tucker wound down and collapsed to the floor with a thump, trying to regain both his breath and any sense of dignity he had left. I am happy to report that his plan was once again a pathetic failure. Unfortunately for me, however, by that time the calzone had been consumed by the man, and all that was left was Pookie's walnut,pear and gorgonzola salad. First of all, I am lactose intolerant. Secondly, who eats pears and walnuts on salad? Rats. Foiled again.
Well at least I added some bells and whistles to my blog today. Check out my music, chihuahua tv channel, the hangman game, and the super-cool pic of Gary Matthews!
Enjoy, and add a calzone to my Christmas wish list. Pookie keeps telling me that Santa is watching; needless to say, I am totally creeped out.
Z.
Like I said, I'll do almost anything for human food, but one thing I will not do is sacrifice my personal dignity. Tucker, however, has none whatsoever. In an attempt to secure some of the human food, the sharpherd, in all his wisdom, decided that sprinting around the living room in a circle like a three-legged, cross-eyed, rabid, retarded dingo on crack was just the thing to impress the man and earn a bite of the calzone. Worried the dim-witted man would fall for this, I attempted to interfere by stationing myself in the middle of the living room. Terrible mistake - I found myself amidst a hurricane of legs and almost became a casualty in the process. Luckily for me, I was able to dive under the coffee table and sneak back upon the couch as Tucker wound down and collapsed to the floor with a thump, trying to regain both his breath and any sense of dignity he had left. I am happy to report that his plan was once again a pathetic failure. Unfortunately for me, however, by that time the calzone had been consumed by the man, and all that was left was Pookie's walnut,pear and gorgonzola salad. First of all, I am lactose intolerant. Secondly, who eats pears and walnuts on salad? Rats. Foiled again.
Well at least I added some bells and whistles to my blog today. Check out my music, chihuahua tv channel, the hangman game, and the super-cool pic of Gary Matthews!
Enjoy, and add a calzone to my Christmas wish list. Pookie keeps telling me that Santa is watching; needless to say, I am totally creeped out.
Z.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Tough to Swallow
I had a terrible itch today. It was one of those itches that is hard to reach, and once you start scratching it, you just can't stop. Unfortunately for me it was also one of those itches that makes one of your legs spaz out and twitch uncontrollably. Of course this provided more entertainment for the man, who began pointing at me and yelling, "Look at Zoey! What a weirdo!"
That was totally uncalled for. Both Pookie and Tucker the sharpherd decided to take a gander, and I could not just stop because I was in mid-scratch. How embarrassing.
Moving on, the man gave me a peanut butter pretzel today. My first thought was that it was poisoned, but its haunting aroma forced me to eat it. Actually, the pretzel was delicious and I am still alive; but something very creepy happened - truly an evil plot just to irritate me once more. It seems the peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth, and it was impossible to shed its grasp. Instinctively running to the water bowl, I was hoping to wash down the tacky substance and find relief. To my dismay, the only water left in the bowl had been sullied with the sharpherd's disgusting and overwhelming saliva. Gross! My breathing became more difficult, and I thought I was about to pass out. Zoey's end was near.
My only chance of survival was to seek the aid of the tree, who had shared drinks with me before but also tried to kill me through an air strike of Christmas ornaments. Throwing caution to the wind, I drank from the tree's basin and washed down the suffocating yet tasty peanut butter with a few cool gulps. All this was done without interference from the tree. Maybe I can once again recruit the tree to my cause; I may have been too hasty in dismissing it as an ally.
Peanut butter has become yet another weapon in the man's arsenal. I find it irresistable, but its effects on me could be devastating. I guess that is why the dogs in the neighborhood call peanut butter "canine crack." I certainly hope I don't become an addict.
Oooh! My favorite Christmas song just came on: "Dominic the Donkey."
Stay hungry (but don't OD on PB)!
Z.
That was totally uncalled for. Both Pookie and Tucker the sharpherd decided to take a gander, and I could not just stop because I was in mid-scratch. How embarrassing.
Moving on, the man gave me a peanut butter pretzel today. My first thought was that it was poisoned, but its haunting aroma forced me to eat it. Actually, the pretzel was delicious and I am still alive; but something very creepy happened - truly an evil plot just to irritate me once more. It seems the peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth, and it was impossible to shed its grasp. Instinctively running to the water bowl, I was hoping to wash down the tacky substance and find relief. To my dismay, the only water left in the bowl had been sullied with the sharpherd's disgusting and overwhelming saliva. Gross! My breathing became more difficult, and I thought I was about to pass out. Zoey's end was near.
My only chance of survival was to seek the aid of the tree, who had shared drinks with me before but also tried to kill me through an air strike of Christmas ornaments. Throwing caution to the wind, I drank from the tree's basin and washed down the suffocating yet tasty peanut butter with a few cool gulps. All this was done without interference from the tree. Maybe I can once again recruit the tree to my cause; I may have been too hasty in dismissing it as an ally.
Peanut butter has become yet another weapon in the man's arsenal. I find it irresistable, but its effects on me could be devastating. I guess that is why the dogs in the neighborhood call peanut butter "canine crack." I certainly hope I don't become an addict.
Oooh! My favorite Christmas song just came on: "Dominic the Donkey."
Stay hungry (but don't OD on PB)!
Z.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Tree and the Man Are in Cahoots!!!
It is official; the tree has sided with the man.
I have drawn this conclusion based on recent events. This afternoon I noticed the man pouring a large pitcher of icy cold water into the tree's basin, the same basin from which we shared a drink the other night as I tried to initiate conversation with the conifer. I truly thought we could be allies, but I don't see that happening anymore. Just as he has with Tucker the sharpherd, the man continues to assemble an army against me using food and beverage. Drat!!! This foils everything!!! He may be stupid, but the man's tactics are rather effective.
Let me tell you how I learned the tree turned on me. Admiring it closely, I was taken by surprise when the tree shed one of its large ornaments in an attempt to bludgeon me. I was too quick for it, however, and I let out a sharp bark to express my agitation at the tree's act of treason. At that moment, I found myself dodging more falling objects, these made of blown glass, which could have easily shattered and impaled me with schrapnel. I was unharmed but a bit startled, and as I backed away from the tree, eyes googling in dismay and disbelief, I realized that I better watch my back from now on. This tree could indeed be a silent assassin.
I am accumulating enemies as we speak. The man. The tree. The sharpherd. This Santa Claus fellow, whoever he is. Hopefully this blog will reveal some friends who will support me in my struggle.
In other news, I peed all over a small rug today. It felt really good to be in a warm room instead of outside where my nipples instantly harden like icicles. I hate the cold!!! The friendly girl washed the rug before the man had a chance to step on it in his stockinged feet as I had planned. I was angry at first, but I think she did it for my own protection.
As far as the bone wars go, the sharpherd sneaked into my stash and made tracks with two of my bones. Zoey 2, Tucker 2. A draw.
Well, the day was not a total loss. "Pookie" did let me enjoy a sweet potato fry and lick her plate; it was absolutely delicious. I am going to find a way to raid the freezer and take these fries for myself. I am devising a plan to accomplish this, and hopefully it is better than my plan to befriend the tree. We shall see.
I am off to check eBay for potential allies. Wish me luck.
Happy Christmas to you.
Z.
I have drawn this conclusion based on recent events. This afternoon I noticed the man pouring a large pitcher of icy cold water into the tree's basin, the same basin from which we shared a drink the other night as I tried to initiate conversation with the conifer. I truly thought we could be allies, but I don't see that happening anymore. Just as he has with Tucker the sharpherd, the man continues to assemble an army against me using food and beverage. Drat!!! This foils everything!!! He may be stupid, but the man's tactics are rather effective.
Let me tell you how I learned the tree turned on me. Admiring it closely, I was taken by surprise when the tree shed one of its large ornaments in an attempt to bludgeon me. I was too quick for it, however, and I let out a sharp bark to express my agitation at the tree's act of treason. At that moment, I found myself dodging more falling objects, these made of blown glass, which could have easily shattered and impaled me with schrapnel. I was unharmed but a bit startled, and as I backed away from the tree, eyes googling in dismay and disbelief, I realized that I better watch my back from now on. This tree could indeed be a silent assassin.
I am accumulating enemies as we speak. The man. The tree. The sharpherd. This Santa Claus fellow, whoever he is. Hopefully this blog will reveal some friends who will support me in my struggle.
In other news, I peed all over a small rug today. It felt really good to be in a warm room instead of outside where my nipples instantly harden like icicles. I hate the cold!!! The friendly girl washed the rug before the man had a chance to step on it in his stockinged feet as I had planned. I was angry at first, but I think she did it for my own protection.
As far as the bone wars go, the sharpherd sneaked into my stash and made tracks with two of my bones. Zoey 2, Tucker 2. A draw.
Well, the day was not a total loss. "Pookie" did let me enjoy a sweet potato fry and lick her plate; it was absolutely delicious. I am going to find a way to raid the freezer and take these fries for myself. I am devising a plan to accomplish this, and hopefully it is better than my plan to befriend the tree. We shall see.
I am off to check eBay for potential allies. Wish me luck.
Happy Christmas to you.
Z.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Limbs in Limbo
I promised all of you that I would tell you the story of when I broke my left-front leg; I like to refer to it as the day I became bionic. It was a dark and stormy night (please disregard the cliche, but I'm a dog, not that Harry Potter-writing chick), and I was hoping to lie down with the kind women and watch some tv. I enjoy watching the reality shows with the dwarf family or that crazy family with the eight kids. Eight kids! I wonder how many nipples that lady has!!! To tell you the truth, I wonder how many nipples I have. I'll have to get back to you on that.
But I digress...back to my story. The younger woman was nowhere to be found, for she has what some of the humans refer to as a "social life." Whatever this means, it does not seem to involve me, so it must not be that great. I decided to look for the other squeaky woman. As I told you in an earlier blog entry, I found out her name is "Pookie." Back then she was only referred to as "Mom," but I don't think she is actually my mom because she is of a different species.
Gosh, I must have ADHD because I can't seem to stay on topic. Maybe that is why the man is trying to destroy me; he is a teacher, so this condition makes me his natural enemy.
Okay, that's it...back to the story. Focus, Zobo, focus.
"Pookie" decided to spend some time with me, which was much appreciated. She likes to pick me up, and I really don't mind it because it gives me a better vantage point so that I can make my plans of conquest. During this time, something absolutely terrifying happened. The sky lit up and there were huge booms that sounded even more deadly than whenTucker eats leftover vegetarian chilli. I have no idea why they let him eat that stuff...beans are truly weapons of mass destruction.
The wind made a perfect impression of me as it howled through the night. Eventually the chihuahua within me took over. I shook and shook. I wriggled and howled. I arched my back and kicked my legs. All I needed was to be held close and told everything would be okay.
That's when she dropped me.
She later said it was my fault for vaulting out of her arms, but I think she was under the mind control of the man, who was trying to take me out once and for all.
I was in shock for a moment, and then the pain seared through my body, causing me to wail at the top of my lungs. It hurt, man! It really hurt!!! I could tell "Pookie" did not know what to do and felt horrible, but that wasn't fixin' my leg anytime soon. I was then taken to a hospital; an Acura was my ambulance for Pete's sake!!!
Once I got there, I endured X-rays and a long surgery where the doctors inserted steel pins into my leg. It was painful, but not as painful as the humiliation that would follow. I was forced to wear a satellite dish around my neck that prevented me from licking myself. I was also fitted with a colorful cast that immobilized my poor leg and did not match any of my outfits. I was totally devastated.
Of course the man had no kind words once he finally showed up. He called me "tripod" and mocked me by asking if we could now get the NFL Network with our new dish. Tucker continued to sniff my butt because I could no longer reach his nose to bite it with the dastardly dish around my neck. I was then forced to spend weeks in a child's playpen with nothing but a sqeaky toy, the likes of which I had already defeated and removed the squeaker. I wallowed in my own sorrows (and at times by choice my own urine) and put on enough pounds so that wearing a bikini was impossible.
Do I forgive "Pookie"? Yes, I do.
Am I stronger from the experience, yes.
Will I use my new bionic leg to its full capabilities? You can bet on it.
Did I have time to plan a major strike against the man?
Let's just say you should stay tuned.
Feliz Navidad, ya'll.
Z.
p.s. The tree is still not speaking. I might have to use more forceful methods.
But I digress...back to my story. The younger woman was nowhere to be found, for she has what some of the humans refer to as a "social life." Whatever this means, it does not seem to involve me, so it must not be that great. I decided to look for the other squeaky woman. As I told you in an earlier blog entry, I found out her name is "Pookie." Back then she was only referred to as "Mom," but I don't think she is actually my mom because she is of a different species.
Gosh, I must have ADHD because I can't seem to stay on topic. Maybe that is why the man is trying to destroy me; he is a teacher, so this condition makes me his natural enemy.
Okay, that's it...back to the story. Focus, Zobo, focus.
"Pookie" decided to spend some time with me, which was much appreciated. She likes to pick me up, and I really don't mind it because it gives me a better vantage point so that I can make my plans of conquest. During this time, something absolutely terrifying happened. The sky lit up and there were huge booms that sounded even more deadly than whenTucker eats leftover vegetarian chilli. I have no idea why they let him eat that stuff...beans are truly weapons of mass destruction.
The wind made a perfect impression of me as it howled through the night. Eventually the chihuahua within me took over. I shook and shook. I wriggled and howled. I arched my back and kicked my legs. All I needed was to be held close and told everything would be okay.
That's when she dropped me.
She later said it was my fault for vaulting out of her arms, but I think she was under the mind control of the man, who was trying to take me out once and for all.
I was in shock for a moment, and then the pain seared through my body, causing me to wail at the top of my lungs. It hurt, man! It really hurt!!! I could tell "Pookie" did not know what to do and felt horrible, but that wasn't fixin' my leg anytime soon. I was then taken to a hospital; an Acura was my ambulance for Pete's sake!!!
Once I got there, I endured X-rays and a long surgery where the doctors inserted steel pins into my leg. It was painful, but not as painful as the humiliation that would follow. I was forced to wear a satellite dish around my neck that prevented me from licking myself. I was also fitted with a colorful cast that immobilized my poor leg and did not match any of my outfits. I was totally devastated.
Of course the man had no kind words once he finally showed up. He called me "tripod" and mocked me by asking if we could now get the NFL Network with our new dish. Tucker continued to sniff my butt because I could no longer reach his nose to bite it with the dastardly dish around my neck. I was then forced to spend weeks in a child's playpen with nothing but a sqeaky toy, the likes of which I had already defeated and removed the squeaker. I wallowed in my own sorrows (and at times by choice my own urine) and put on enough pounds so that wearing a bikini was impossible.
Do I forgive "Pookie"? Yes, I do.
Am I stronger from the experience, yes.
Will I use my new bionic leg to its full capabilities? You can bet on it.
Did I have time to plan a major strike against the man?
Let's just say you should stay tuned.
Feliz Navidad, ya'll.
Z.
p.s. The tree is still not speaking. I might have to use more forceful methods.
Monday, December 1, 2008
No luck.
Hello faithful followers. I don't really have the time tonight to write a total account of my day, but I will keep you up to date on my progress with the tree. After sharing a drink with the evergreen, I could not get one word out of it regardless of my bedroom eyes and other methods of persuasion. I am thinking maybe the tree fears the man as I do and is worried that if it leaks information, it may be punished severely. I have seen the man in the backyard cut up and burn other trees for warmth and to conduct a sick ritual where he and the women folk roast sugary white treats over a flame. What compounds the problem is the fact that they never give me any. Hmmpf.
If the tree won't speak and become an ally, I will have to try to find someone else. My keen ears did pick up on a bit of information that could aid my cause; I learned the name of one of the squeaky women who remains a neutral party in my war with the man. Today the man referred to her as "Pookie" (she must be Asian or something), and maybe if I can set up the man, she will take my side and rid this house of his presence. I strengthened our bond today by responding intuitively to her question about whether I had to "pee pee" outside. I know what this means, and only today did I confirm this to her, which caused her to respond with arm flapping and positive words. I think I'm on to something here...please the woman to defeat the man. I must devise a plan to take advantage of this discovery!
Oh! Speaking of the woman, she owes me tremendously to begin with. How could I forget about the broken leg? Remind me to blog you with the details later, for it is a quite horrifying story of pain, suffering, and betrayal.
Updating the bones wars: Zoey 4, Tucker 0.
Until tomorrow.
Z.
If the tree won't speak and become an ally, I will have to try to find someone else. My keen ears did pick up on a bit of information that could aid my cause; I learned the name of one of the squeaky women who remains a neutral party in my war with the man. Today the man referred to her as "Pookie" (she must be Asian or something), and maybe if I can set up the man, she will take my side and rid this house of his presence. I strengthened our bond today by responding intuitively to her question about whether I had to "pee pee" outside. I know what this means, and only today did I confirm this to her, which caused her to respond with arm flapping and positive words. I think I'm on to something here...please the woman to defeat the man. I must devise a plan to take advantage of this discovery!
Oh! Speaking of the woman, she owes me tremendously to begin with. How could I forget about the broken leg? Remind me to blog you with the details later, for it is a quite horrifying story of pain, suffering, and betrayal.
Updating the bones wars: Zoey 4, Tucker 0.
Until tomorrow.
Z.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Indoor Trees
Today started as any other day. Tucker the sharpherd woke me up prematurely with his incessant barking, so yes, I woke up grouchy. From there I decided to get on with my day and my morning ritual, staring down one of the squeaky women in order to coerce her into giving me her bagel. When I do this, my eyes remain fixed on the bagel despite her high-pitched and demeaning taunts, for the bagel and any part of her finger attached to it is my prey. The sharpherd also attempts to secure the bagel, and his methods of persuasion are nothing short of pathetic. He wimpers and makes his "good dog" eyes at the woman, even doing the most juvenile tricks, like sitting (who can't do that if you have a tush), lying down, and giving "skin," which is nothing more than shaking hands. I must admit it is indeed effective, but so below me it makes me want to scream, which I do very often by the way. Does his success make me jealous? Well, let's just say I always manage to win the war of wills with the squeaky woman, and I eat my fair share of bagels. Point, Zoey. Game, set, match. Ha!
Now on to other business. Today the people once again left me in solitary confinement while they went about their pseudo-busy lives. What they do, I don't know, nor do I care. When they returned, I was stunned to see the man, whom I despise (I cannot stress that point enough), bringing a freaking tree into the living room and setting it in the exact spot where I took a leak three and a half months ago. I did not know whether it was just another exercise in stupidity for the fool or if he was placing it there to get back at me, knowing how I love to sniff trees outside the house; perhaps he never cleaned up my urine in the first place and was now tricking me into smelling my own pee by placing the tree in that spot. His fiendish plots to foil me never seem to cease.
I learned later that this ritual seems to be an annual tradition, not another example of the man's idiocy, and it totally intrigues me. In fact the tree and I are kindred spirits in a sense. The people masked the tree in lights and trinkets in an attempt to change its identity, as they take great pleasure in decorating me in various outfits with ridiculous sayings stitched into them, like "Socialite," "Naughty or Nice," or my personal favorite "Local Celebrity." How will anyone ever take me seriously when nonsense like that adorns my ill-fitting clothing? It was even easier to empathize with the tree when they robed me in my newest costume, one made to make me look like a jolly elf or, as the stupid man put it, a miniature "Santa Claus." I don't know who this "Claus" is, but based on his clothing taste and the fact that the comment came from the man, it can't be good. Maybe the poor tree will become an ally in my attempt to get revenge. I will need to learn its language and esuage its pain in order to make that happen. I will have to interrogate the sharpherd, who has prior experience from which I can possibly draw. Perhaps I can tempt him with one of the bones I have filched from his stash buried in the flower bed. The dope.
I will be sure to inform my loyal readers of my progress with the tree. It already allows me to drink from its stand, so I think a kinship is growing. Soon I will be able to convince this tree it should fall on and crush the man. Until then, stay posted and don't let your momma dress you funny.
Out like G.W. in a few weeks.
Z.
Now on to other business. Today the people once again left me in solitary confinement while they went about their pseudo-busy lives. What they do, I don't know, nor do I care. When they returned, I was stunned to see the man, whom I despise (I cannot stress that point enough), bringing a freaking tree into the living room and setting it in the exact spot where I took a leak three and a half months ago. I did not know whether it was just another exercise in stupidity for the fool or if he was placing it there to get back at me, knowing how I love to sniff trees outside the house; perhaps he never cleaned up my urine in the first place and was now tricking me into smelling my own pee by placing the tree in that spot. His fiendish plots to foil me never seem to cease.
I learned later that this ritual seems to be an annual tradition, not another example of the man's idiocy, and it totally intrigues me. In fact the tree and I are kindred spirits in a sense. The people masked the tree in lights and trinkets in an attempt to change its identity, as they take great pleasure in decorating me in various outfits with ridiculous sayings stitched into them, like "Socialite," "Naughty or Nice," or my personal favorite "Local Celebrity." How will anyone ever take me seriously when nonsense like that adorns my ill-fitting clothing? It was even easier to empathize with the tree when they robed me in my newest costume, one made to make me look like a jolly elf or, as the stupid man put it, a miniature "Santa Claus." I don't know who this "Claus" is, but based on his clothing taste and the fact that the comment came from the man, it can't be good. Maybe the poor tree will become an ally in my attempt to get revenge. I will need to learn its language and esuage its pain in order to make that happen. I will have to interrogate the sharpherd, who has prior experience from which I can possibly draw. Perhaps I can tempt him with one of the bones I have filched from his stash buried in the flower bed. The dope.
I will be sure to inform my loyal readers of my progress with the tree. It already allows me to drink from its stand, so I think a kinship is growing. Soon I will be able to convince this tree it should fall on and crush the man. Until then, stay posted and don't let your momma dress you funny.
Out like G.W. in a few weeks.
Z.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Greetings.
Hola. This is my first posting on this blog, and I hope it is the first of many which will chronicle my rise to power in this fascinating country. My name is Zoey, and I am a chihuahua living in Pennsylvania, as my profile indicates. I am only a little bit more than a year old, but I have been through many interesting experiences in my life. Let me get you up to speed.
I really don't remember much of my early days; most of what I will write takes place after I was rescued from an awful concentration camp in New Jersey. Emaciated and wearing an abominable pink dress that made me look like a tramp, I wallowed in sorry amongst a slew of other inmates until my captors were deceived by my new caretakers. I was whisked away from that house of squalor to my new digs in Pennsylvania, where I instantly rose from also-ran to princess. There I commanded everyone's attention, especially that of the two house females, who speak to me in squeaky voices that mockingly undermine my supreme intelligence; even so, for some reason their constant banter causes my tail to wag uncontrollably. I see them as my allies in my aim to one day figure out my identity and role in this cruel and confusing world. It seems I have fooled them into believing I am an innocent and playful canine, for my good looks and undeniable appeal make me absolutely irresistible. Hey, it's not bragging if it's the truth.
There are two major obstacles in my way, however. The man who lives here does not seem to fall for my guise. He condescendingly calls me an array of strange names, claiming that I do not even look like a dog. He says I look like a deer fetus, rat, bat, giraffe (Yeah, buddy; like I can eat leaves off the freakin' trees at my height!), and my personal favorite, a goat-snake, which I guess is some mythical creature he dreamed up that is part goat and part python. What a jerk! He must be racist against us Mexicans. I'm all dog, buddy, so you can just bug off!!! I enjoy barking and growling at him, and man does he ever get angry when I strategically drop a poop on the carpet. One day I hope to place one where he will step in it and carry my angst with him everywhere!
The other roadblock is my goofball of a "brother," Tucker. Unlike myself, a purebred, blue-blooded hound, Tucker is a mere mongrel, part shepherd and part sharpei; therefore I refer to him as the "sharpherd." He seems to be an ally of the man, and I think this mind control is attained through the use of food. In this respect, Tucker is a hapless fool; a brute whose only ambitions are to eat, sleep, poop, bark at the mailman and make a total fool of himself. Check out the ridiculous pictures of him on this blog.
There is one thing we share, however...our love of rawhide bones. With a limited supply available, it is not hyperbole when I say I am willing to go to war over these bones. The man buys them, so it is extra satisfying to steal them for myself. My ambition is to control the inventory of bones exclusively, stockpiling them to use to my advantage at a later date.
I have told you the basics of who I am and my condition. In future postings I will tell you of my adventures with the kind, squeaky women, the idiocy of Tucker the doltish sharpherd, the status of the bone wars, my struggles against the man, and other encounters I have. Again, if you are a loyal reader of my blog, I will be sure to reward you when I control the world. Until then, shake with the pride of a chihuahua.
Peace, hombre.
Z.
I really don't remember much of my early days; most of what I will write takes place after I was rescued from an awful concentration camp in New Jersey. Emaciated and wearing an abominable pink dress that made me look like a tramp, I wallowed in sorry amongst a slew of other inmates until my captors were deceived by my new caretakers. I was whisked away from that house of squalor to my new digs in Pennsylvania, where I instantly rose from also-ran to princess. There I commanded everyone's attention, especially that of the two house females, who speak to me in squeaky voices that mockingly undermine my supreme intelligence; even so, for some reason their constant banter causes my tail to wag uncontrollably. I see them as my allies in my aim to one day figure out my identity and role in this cruel and confusing world. It seems I have fooled them into believing I am an innocent and playful canine, for my good looks and undeniable appeal make me absolutely irresistible. Hey, it's not bragging if it's the truth.
There are two major obstacles in my way, however. The man who lives here does not seem to fall for my guise. He condescendingly calls me an array of strange names, claiming that I do not even look like a dog. He says I look like a deer fetus, rat, bat, giraffe (Yeah, buddy; like I can eat leaves off the freakin' trees at my height!), and my personal favorite, a goat-snake, which I guess is some mythical creature he dreamed up that is part goat and part python. What a jerk! He must be racist against us Mexicans. I'm all dog, buddy, so you can just bug off!!! I enjoy barking and growling at him, and man does he ever get angry when I strategically drop a poop on the carpet. One day I hope to place one where he will step in it and carry my angst with him everywhere!
The other roadblock is my goofball of a "brother," Tucker. Unlike myself, a purebred, blue-blooded hound, Tucker is a mere mongrel, part shepherd and part sharpei; therefore I refer to him as the "sharpherd." He seems to be an ally of the man, and I think this mind control is attained through the use of food. In this respect, Tucker is a hapless fool; a brute whose only ambitions are to eat, sleep, poop, bark at the mailman and make a total fool of himself. Check out the ridiculous pictures of him on this blog.
There is one thing we share, however...our love of rawhide bones. With a limited supply available, it is not hyperbole when I say I am willing to go to war over these bones. The man buys them, so it is extra satisfying to steal them for myself. My ambition is to control the inventory of bones exclusively, stockpiling them to use to my advantage at a later date.
I have told you the basics of who I am and my condition. In future postings I will tell you of my adventures with the kind, squeaky women, the idiocy of Tucker the doltish sharpherd, the status of the bone wars, my struggles against the man, and other encounters I have. Again, if you are a loyal reader of my blog, I will be sure to reward you when I control the world. Until then, shake with the pride of a chihuahua.
Peace, hombre.
Z.
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EXCLUSIVE ZOEY PICS!
hiding from the man
I'm all ears.
you lookin' at me, punk?
check out my hoodie.
an old football injury
stay alert. there's no sleep with the man around
Preparing to Strike
After I escaped the New Jersey concentration camp
SCENE OF THE CRIME: On the lookout for hip outfits at The Country Junction
THE EVIDENCE!!!
The feline's Michael Phelps moment
STONEFACED!
My look of disbelief after witnessing the feline's secret addiction
Check out my tat.
Z-Funk...feel the groove
The New Lion: It could have been such a beautiful friendship!
want some of this?
Got protection?
I get more sleep now that I have my own lion.
The Great Bone Wars: Zoey 4 Tucker 0
Yes, I killed that leopard, too.
hide the bones! there is treachery afoot!
The sharpherd singing the blues
PRISONER OF THE MAN!
I was the man's prisoner for a week.
My skinnier days
Tucker, my dufus sharpherd brother
Tucker in his babushka
Tucker again. What a dope.
the feline...a culinary genius
A SNEAK PEEK
stills from one of Z. Funk and the C-Sharpherds videos, "U And Me Can Pee on That Tree"
