Sicko

Summer Colds Suck. Or so I am told. I honestly don't know the difference between a summer cold and any other kind. And to be honest, I think it's a silly term, because I am perfectly warm. But so worketh the humans.

Anyway, it appears that I have such a "cold." Or that is what Mom thinks. Word on the street is, I am going to the vet today to have it properly diagnosed, but my sniffling, sneezing, runny nose, can't rest symptoms have Mom pretty convinced she's right. Unless I have developed an allergy to Chance, which seems unlikely at this juncture.

The biggest issue with this cold thing is the sniffles cramp my style. As a chihuahua of leisure, I like to spend lots of time lying in the bed and on the couch on my back with my paws in the air, preferably receiving belly rubs from the parental units. But my sniffles have prevented this from being a long-term comfortable position, as I quickly start snurfling and sort of coughing. It's unpleasant and I would like it to be fixed. STAT.

On top of it all, it's POURING today and apparently it intends to do so for the duration, so my walk to the vet will be unpleasant. At least Chance will come along for the jaunt. Misery loves company.

Well, Mom starts her last year of law school (Ed. Note: Thank DOG) on Thursday and needs to do some reading on something called "Tax," so I am signing off for now for a nap beside the reading Momster. But I will update you all on my condition later today or tomorrow, once the diagnosis is final.

Sniffle,

C

It's better than being a cat

It has recently come to my attention, through a communique from the Offices of DexCorp, that plans are being made for me to hit the kitty ranks undercover shortly. Of course, I would be glad to do such a service to my country. I suspect I would do fine as a cat, as when I have encountered them before I have had little to no reaction to them. I therefore would be unlikely to do anything particularly objectionable in my taking over of the cat world, or at least I would be unlikely to blow my cover.

But I have to protest, dear readers, to the intimation that funds to turn me back into a chihuahua might not be necessary, due to the apparent improbability of one wanting to ever be a chihuahua. This is a clear insult to my spectacular breed. We are one noble set of dogs. Chance and I defend our apartment against intruders, visible and invisible. We assist in the kitchen. And we are clearly one step away from upsetting the space-time continuum with our cuteness. How we don't rule the world is really the only question I have.

And anyway, it's just so darned pleasant being a chihuahua. We don't have to go out in the weather like the kind our fine part of this Union is currently experiencing, which is to say the gazillion-degree, paw-burning kind. We spend our days like today at our leisure in Mom's lap. Or on our couch. Or in our bed. Really, it's just a constant perambulation from one sleeping spot to the next. Who wouldn't want to do that? And if I were a cat, while I admit some of my existence might be similar to that described above, I would not live HERE, because (a) Mom and Dad wanted dogs, not cats and (b) the artwork that hangs over my couch, behind my desk, etc. is too claw-able. Uncivilized felines would simply not work in these digs.

But I have said enough. I will suggest that we take up collection for my return to canine-hood, once I have served DexCorp in the necessary capacity of undercover kitty. Send funds to the Headquarters, so long as we can trust our Fearless Leader not to divert the funds to some other ignominious purpose. Like turning me into a fish or something.

I've said my piece. Woofs and perhaps a meow soon,

C

The indignity of it all

Dad saw Mom logging on to Dogster just now and said, "Are you going to write an entry? About how cute Chance is?"

Tell me, fellow readers, what's wrong with that set of questions?

Anyway, I was so insulted, I had to insist that Mom write an entry, and not about how cute Chance is (Ed. note: though he is). But seriously, if Mom is going to take time out of her busy schedule to log on to Dogster, the least she can do is write an entry about MY important doings.

Which actually don't consist of much, truth be told. Just had a few sips of Mom's beer, which is always nice. Washed the pizza crust down that I just got a hold of. Good stuff that pizza. The humans certainly have their moments of genius. Beer and pizza are the results of two of them.

Otherwise, it's a dog's life. Still hate my dogwalker, though word on the Street is that Mom has put in for a new one, thinking that maybe a more experienced person will be able to get our harnesses on, or at least will be able to touch us. What Mom has failed to realize, is that experience is no match for chihuahua hatred. And our particular brand extends to all humans who aren't Mom or Dad. So I say, Bring it ON. Ain't no one gonna break MY stride. Or cause me to exhibit it in public.

Anyway, that's about it. I have coffee tables to sniff, a brother to bother. But I will probably check in soon. Until then, dewclaws up.

C

Ain't no cure for the Summertime blues

-or- Kippen's Malaise.

Hello again, dear Readers.

First of all, I have to give a shoutout to Dexter; with Him all things are possible. Even getting Mom to update you readers still out there on my comings, goings, sniffings, scratchings, etc.

And with that important bit covered, we begin what has basically become my Quarterly entry. On this particular day, I must admit I am not in my best form. For the last couple of hours, for no apparent reason, I have been huddling on the couch or a lap, very tense, refusing to move much. Mom and Dad asked if I had done something I shouldn't have (not an unreasonable question, I admit) but they clearly just don't UNDERSTAND me. Sometimes we gifted dogs have our down periods. And the humans should just learn to accept it. I am an ARTIST, literary and sometimes in the torn-up-paper medium. My moods must simply be accepted.

Except for tonight, all is relatively well on the New York front. Chance and I still hate our new dogwalker (or really, wee-wee pad changer, as she is not allowed to touch us as yet. Chance still won't always come out to let her glimpse him every time) 3 (or more?) months since she started invading our house on a regular basis. And now since Mom has started that beautiful ritual of the Big Firm Summer Associate-ship the invasion is on a DAILY basis. It's simply not right, folks.

To add insult to injury, Mom is gone a lot more. She comes home late, often not talking particularly sensically or walking in particularly straight lines, and apparently wakes up many days with what she terms a "hangover." I have hung over the side of the bed and couch before, and didn't find either so bad, so I have to assume that she is talking about something else. But I digress.

Other than Mom's more frequent absence, all is pretty much as it usually is. The weather is nice, from what I see out my window in the living room. I go outside to see it occasionally, but I am still partial to the Great Indoors. And by "partial to," I mean "drastically prefer." The giant thing that blows cold air out of the wall has been on relatively infrequently, which means that I can make my usual rounds to sniff in and out loudly at it more regularly. (I only do this when it's off, due to my lack of interest in it breathing right back on me.) And so it goes.

Anyway, I have to get back to my sulking. But I will be back shortly, one can always hope, and perhaps in better doggy spirits. Till then, dear Readers, fear not for your writer. I am merely in the dogdrums. But I will bounce back. I allllwaaaaays do.

C

Culinary Update. Or: I'm her little buttercup...

...cake, that is. Since Mom has free time not just to update you Loyal Readers on my whereabouts, she also has time to take us to less than pleasant places, today, the Groomer. The upside to this is that we end up w/treats afterwards, to do something about a weird thing that the Groomer called "guilt." I don't know what this is, but it seems to benefit me, so I roll w/it.

Chance and I just returned from our grooming. You may at first wonder what grooming a short-haired chihuahua could possibly require. The answer, Dear Readers, is nail-clipping and some more unpleasant procedures that shall here remain nameless. But you smaller dogs know what I am talking about and it is NOT pleasant. Nor is it even remotely something Mom would think of doing herself. But I digress.

Our guilt-easer this time was a new one - usually we get pork twists but we weren't so interested in those last time so Mom branched out. This time we got a lovely little treat called a "cupcake," or so I am told. It was a new taste experience for me: As much as Chance and I manage to get human food pretty much on a daily basis, we don't usually get much in the way of sweet stuff, save for fruit.

But this was a nice new treat. Spongy bottom, which I very much liked. I even took it off the little plate on which it was served to me and relocated w/it to the couch, as is my custom w/things I wish to ingest. There was some weird stuff on the top of it that I wasn't so into - instead I decided to strew it on the living room floor. Chance seemed to enjoy it though so he licked it up for me. Weird guy, that brother of mine. I just thought it stuck to the roof of my delicate mouth too much but Chance seemed just fine w/the taste and texture.

Anyway, I would recommend the cupcake as a tasty alternative to whatever your owners usually feed you, dear Readers. I give it a solid 3 stars of 5.

And that's about all I have to tell you on this fine day. (Ed. Note: Actually, it's not so fine anymore. It was 65 degrees and sunny when I took the dogs out at 10 a.m. and is now 52 and raining. Glad to hear that there are still those in the world who feel that Global Warming may or may not exist.) Having had an exhausting morning of beauty, I must retire to Mom's lap for a nap.

Bone Appetit,

Captain

Filing my 10-PQ

For you finance buffs out there, the 10-PQ is the Puppy Quarterly. It is basically a dumb securities law joke that demonstrates 2 things: 1. Mom has been in law school too long and 2. I don't get to have my say in this fine arena nearly often enough. Be that as it may, I am updating on what has become my quarterly appointment, to update you really loyal readers on my latest comings and goings.

Chance and I have actually been very busy of late. For some reason, Mom and Dad have failed to get the message that we do NOT appreciate it when they allow other humans into our domain. There have been a lot of them here lately, many of whom have spent one - or in a couple of cases, many - nights sleeping on MY couch. That's right - the couch where I nap, frolic, and do some other rather unspeakable things quite often. If that doesn't dissuade these interlopers from invading my territory I don't know what will, but it does indeed not seem to have the desired effect.

First up was SK, a friend of Dad's from college, who is American but has lived in a place called "Japan" for the last 10 years, or so I am told. SK is possibly my least favorite person on the face of the earth. No matter how much I bark, growl and otherwise glare or stalk menacingly in his direction, he obstinately continues to show back up once a year or so. And apparently because his visits are infrequent, he feels the need for them to be extended. The last one was about a week, which is like a lifetime in my world. This mostly means I spend a great deal of time smelling like citronella, because my bark collar (which was, BTW, purchased during SK's last visit because I literally barked for two days w/out let up) is essentially permanently on during SK's visits. Mom, the funny lady, left it off during one of her long school days and SK sent an email (which appeared during Evidence class, and therefore Mom was watching her email much more intently than her class notes anyway) that said, "Hi M, the dogs have a message for you: ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! [repeated for about 12 lines or so]." Said email apparently nearly caused Mom to have an aneurysm in an attempt not to laugh out loud during lecture, but I felt it conveyed my sentiment rather nicely. And it was an accurate quote, from all reports.

Anyhoo, SK left, then ACW was in for a night, but at least it was just one night. I definitely am more charitably inclined towards the ladies than the men-types (And for some reason, I particularly dislike the men-types who like other men-types, which I gather is SK's inclination, whatever that means. I mean, I like Chance (sometimes) so I don't see what the big deal is but maybe I am missing something. Maybe I can be a Republican-party mascot - I am much cuter than an Elephant, don't you think? And I clearly share the same "family values" that they do. Oh, wait, Mom is suggesting she might put me up for adoption if I so align myself. Oh well, never mind. On the other hand, maybe Ann Coulter will adopt me ...I digress.) So ACW came and went and I was reasonably well behaved, or so I am told. But she wasn't here for that long, so maybe I just appreciated the short duration of the visit.

But THEN, because, as Commander Dexter recently pointed out in a missive to yours truly, Mom is on Spring Break this week, CC came for a semi-extended visit. This was the end for me. My puppy voice is tired, the citronella collar battery is low again, and I am tired of smelling like lemons all the time. So for the most part, I just laid low, doing recon as needed. I also developed a new tactic, viz. not barking when I arose in the morning and recalled that there was an invader in the house, which usually prompts a round of very threatening barks at the couch on which said invader is asleep, but rather coming up to the floor nearest the invader's face and staring menacingly - or so I rather thought - at him/her until he/she wakes up and removes himself from my couch. Turns out this tactic does not work particularly well w/CC but I did notice it got me yelled at a lot less, which is of little concern to me but Chance hates it and all other loud noise, so he benefited as well. And actually, it turns out CC is not so bad. I even deigned to alight on her lap once or twice, and even more surprisingly, so did Chance. We both let her stroke our fine furs, and it turns out I did not develop any rare, life-threatening chihuahua diseases, which had always been what I presumed would happen if I let some outsider touch me. So my little foray into being vaguely welcoming in my castle worked out pretty well. I doubt I will stick with it or even remember to try, but maybe my citronella collar will bring the memory rushing back next time guests are over.

In other news, Chance and my puppy nanny (a/k/a dogwalker) who has tended us since we came to rule the house here has quit. I don't quite understand why - she was the only other person besides Mom and Dad I liked - but now we have a new one, who also comes in when Mom is out of the house for too long to change our weewee pads on schedule, as she well ought. The puppy nanny should also take us for walks when the weather is nice, but I guess it hasn't been lately, because I have been fortunate enough not to have to brave the not-so-great outdoors in quite some time. But I think I can further avoid it by using my current tactic, which is absolutely refusing to go near this new person. Chance won't even make an appearance most of the time when she's here - he usually skeedaddles under the desk or huddles in his pied-a-TV (ed note: Chance has actually built himself a full-on nest in the corner behind the television. Dragged his donut bed there himself and everthing. Captain has a much more elaborate (bone, blanket and stuff-filled) one under the couch, which he also constructed and furnished w/his donut bed.) Mom hasn't met her, but she spends time after trying to bribe me into liking her standing over paper w/one of those tasty "pen" things in her hands, so she must be communicating w/Mom somehow. But I will tell you, I don't like her one bit, though I have started sniffing her instead of barking for all 30 minutes she is here. But I will be dog-darned if she is going to touch the golden furs anytime soon. No siree. At this rate, I may be able to avoid walks for another solid couple of months.

And I think that's about it. I doubt my weigh-ins on life in general will get much better in the coming year, because Mom has apparently been made Top Dog (as I understand it) of something called a law journal next year. This apparently translates to more puppy nanny time and even less time to assist me in the task of reporting my important doings, but I will keep doing my best for some computer time every now and then. And you, dear and any remaining readers, lose your faith not - I will continue to check up on your ramblings in your various corners of the doggy universe, as long as I can count you to do the same for me.

Ears up, paws down,

Capt.

You can never come home again

I leave the Dogster 'hood for 3 months or so and come back to find the place all sorts of different. For one, there are these "Zealies," which apparently represent something called "money." I gather that I have licked and even tried to eat this "money" before, though how that can be if it appears in the cyberuniverse that is Dogster, I don't know. But the humans know best (or think they do) so I will have to take Mom at her word.

Things here in NY are chugging along as ever. I discovered beer this summer, which completes my beverage portfolio. I like 'em all, but am not, technically supposed to have them. Still, I managed, for example, to spill some of Mom's port (a Tawney from Prager, in CA - Highly recommended by this canine oenophile - sweet, but not too, with a hint of spices) the other day. So it's catch as catch can, but I can, so I do.

Chance and I went back to the vet recently. Apparently my full, adult chihuahua weight is 8.5 pounds. For you breed purists out there, I realize this means I am over the show weight, but as Dad points out I am barrel-chested. And I could take any of you 6-lb. showdogs in a match any day.

After a busy semester, Mom continues her "illustrious" law school career, which will be officially half over at the end of this month. She seems very, very, very glad about this. I don't see what the hubbub is, because after this is over she will be away from us more, but these humans work on a different level than we canines.

What else? Well, as you can see from my snazzy beer-drinking collage of pics below, Mom and Dad have a new couch. Actually, it's not new so much as different from the white one that was on its way out and was finished off thoroughly by Chance and me. It's being "held" for Mom's best friend (who has the nerve to be here often - the nerve) who moved to a very small apartment and could no longer keep 'hold of it but didn't want to chuck it. If she knew the sort of treatment that Chance and I give it she might have thought twice before "storing" it here, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her. At least leather cleans easily. [Though Mom was baffled, albeit somewhat impressed, by my apparent ability to defy gravity when she found...well, my "leavings" smeared not just on the arm but on the SIDE of it the other day.]

And that about covers it, for those fans of mine who have not totally given up on me. I do appreciate your continued reader-age and will try to log in more over the holidays while Mom has a reprieve from the free-time black hole that is law school.

Happy Howlidays.

Captain

Domo Arigato

And now, another chapter in Captain's Culinary Adventures. Today's topic: Sushi. Yes, dear readers, believe it or not today is a first in my gastronomic adventures. No, the paper that I ripped up today was not uniquely seasoned. Never is, because my parents are discourteous and don't seem to actually appreciate their live paper shredder. Rather, I have tried sushi for the first time.

Steak or cheese, it is not. But there's something tangy ("soy sauce," I am told) that, when combined with tender bits of tuna, is rather worth eating. Fleshy, bouncy, salty. Why the humans spoil it with rice (Chance and I don't like rice for some reason. It's the White Peril.) I do not know. But as meals go, the fish is a good little morsel. I highly recommend it if you can get your paws on some.

Till the next time, as ever, Bone Appetite.

C

A little Asian cuisine. Or, Mmmm, Tatami mats

Chance and I have recently discovered a new feast. On the coffee table that Mom and Dad got as a wedding present from some family, there lies a ceramic sculpture. Uninteresting so far. But under said sculpture is a wonderful new textural experience that I understand is called a "tatami mat" or the like. For all you pups out there looking for a new bit of roughage, I must highly recommend the tatami. Crunchy, crispy, airy inside. The height of noodle goodness. And who even knew - I don't actually like noodles, but I like this. Two days in a row now I have sampled the pleasures of the mat, and I must admit the only thing standing between me and finishing it is the sculpture, which so far obstinately refuses to move. But just you wait, dear readers and fellow gastronomes. Victory will be mine. Oh, yes, it will be mine.

Bone Appetite.

Captain

It's a dog's life

Now that I have been bidden back into the world of Dogster you all get to hear about my incredibly interesting life.

So tonight on tap is the following:

Mom and Dad came back from seeing some part-two deal about Pirates. For the record, they were exceedingly non-plussed. Something about "3 hours of middle ground." I have no idea what they are talking about but they didn't seem jazzed. They did, perhaps most importantly, come home with Steak, which I think we can all agree means "good night for the chihuahuas."

Or so I thought. Since the joyful, steak-filled return, I have seen parts of (1) Bridget Jones's Diary, (2) Shark Attack III: Megalodon and (3) Chapelle's Show: the lost episodes. Only the latter has something to recommend itself, and so far it's not even much. Their next plan? Something that I understand is called Frankenfish. I mean, I have no material. How do you all expect me to perform under this duress?

I have to go bite a Dingo bone.

C