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.