Brilliant, pal, just brilliant!

My friend Keyah is highly intelligent- as would be the expectation- as she also happens to be a sight hound. I have learned by reading her diary, that she recently used the telephone to request dinner, and this- in fact- resulted in her GET-ting that dinner. So I decided that I would also utilize this trick as my other attempts to secure additional after-dinner treats have proven ineffective as of late. As a recent diary entry of mine has explained, I am accustomed to getting a Greenie around 7:30pm-ish. The one Greenie is pleasant enough, but I would prefer a 7:30, 8:00, 8:30 (so on and so forth) schedule from now on. So I e-mailed Keyah, and she graciously explained how to use the phone, much to the disdain of my mommy and daddy.

7:35 rolls around. (ring, ring...) Mommy answers the phone. (Seva on the other line) "Can I have another Greenie? I finished mine. I'm still hungry."

Mommy replies, "No" and hangs up.

7:49- (ring, ring...) Daddy answers the phone. (Seva on the line again) "Can I have another Greenie? Mommy says yes, but says I should ask you."

Daddy is wise to my manipulations and indeed says, "No". Again I am faced with nothing but dial tone.

So, apparently it does not work for everyone. At least not in this restrictive environment.

I think I'll go pee on the family room floor.

A new outlook

My dear friend, Winnie, has convinced me that I need to rethink my strategy for retired living. She is 13 years old (I swear it's true!) and rather than nap, she chooses to stay quite active. In fact, she's invited me to join the AnimaLimpix 2007. I enthusiastically accepted and immediately began my training. My event? She created a category just for me- Evil cat chasing. I truely don't chase them unless they are a card-carrying member of the Evil Cat Society, of which my housemate Cleopatra is one. I practice by stalking Cleo daily. I haven't yet worked up to chasing her (I admit, she scares the pi$$ out of me), but it's imminent, for sure. Sometimes my training includes chasing an occasional nice cat. And disabled cats aren't completely immune. You see, I live with another cat who happens to be a 3-legger... the poor dear. I figure he needs to work on his scrambling techniques so my chasing him can only be considered a service, really. I'm like that. Always thinking of others.

The way of nature...

It is a common biological fact that generally the more flamboyantly beautiful a creature is, the more dangerous; its mere beauty a natural warning beacon for others to heed. Take, for example, the flower pictured in my headline photo- the Japanese Star-Gazer lily. Unmatched in beauty, unmatched in toxicity- to cats that is. Less than 1/4 of a dime-sized quantity of this treasure, any part of this flower, will result in complete kidney failure for our feline friends. Left untreated (and sometimes despite treatment), within 24 hours the cat will be on her way to a quick death. Period. End of story. The exquisitely marked Monarch butterfly will make a bird sick if ingested, so generally a bird won't mess with a Monarch. The vibrant Coral Snake & the Poison Dart Frog are deadly... I could go on and on... Which is why, I have decided, that I was born a complete and total bitch to all who are introduced to me. I can't help it that others are drawn to me. I was born beautiful, with a toxic attitude. If you should be so kind- and brave- as to introduce yourself to me, I will strike you down with such furor and venom that for a brief moment, you will be certain that this is your long-awaited demise. Rest assured that I shan't leave a physical mark on you- but emotionally, you will be left quivering and broken. On your back, with a tiny tinkle response... There has never been a dog who has argued with my approach. They have all just accepted it as fact, as nature, as evolution. It's not personal. Once I have made things perfectly clear to my new-found friend, if it is you- for example- I will help you up on your feet and even dust you off a bit. "No hard feelings, I hope, darling?" You will likely be too stunned to respond at this point. I will then take you into the backyard and offer you champaign, or cognac, or some nice tea. And never again, in our lifetime will I have to repeat this ritual. If it is another 5 years before we are so lucky as to meet again, I will remember you- my friend- and immediately take you in with a loving embrace. But new friends must be initiated. There are no exceptions.

Now that I have gotten this off my chest, I must go finish preparing tea for my 3 feline housemates. Rosepetal tea for Matisse and Camille; Japanese Star-Gazer lily tea for the dear Cleopatra (aka Diablo Gato, Cle-o-cifer, Osama bin Cleo...). It should be a good morning.

My name is Seva, and I am Greenie dependent...

Now that we're on the subject of Greenies, has anyone ever really looked into the potential for Greenie abuse? Its addictive properties? I have always managed to eat one Greenie a day. I was comfortable with that. Never demanding more. Content to rest after I received my 8pm offering. But suddenly I find myself feeling empty inside after I've eaten my Greenie. I want another one. I try to pretend like they never actually gave me the Greenie in the first place. I go back to the closet door and softly whine. I press my nose against the door and look sideways at my mommy and daddy. This proves to be ineffective. I then pick a random wall and just blankly scratch at it. Over and over... I will not be ignored. They tell me to stop. I then reposition myself and scratch the same wall with my other paw- just to show them my dexterity. They are not impressed, and this does not earn me a second Greenie. I lie on my bed and stare at the wall. Empty, exhausted, and alone in my suffering...

I have heard of inner-city and rural dogs alike afflicted with this malady. I am considering starting a support group: Greenies Anonymous for Dogs (GAD!). They say the first step is to admit you have a problem. My name is Seva, and I am Greenie dependent.

It's not easy being greenies...

What with all of the recent hype about Greenies, I must say I'm lucky to be alive. After all, I've eaten a Greenie nearly every day for the past 3 years and I'm not dead yet... I can't say they have much teeth-cleaning value. My mommy gives them to me because I have food allergies to so many proteins that Greenies are one of very few treats I can safely eat without bloating up like the Hindenburg and getting an awful rash on my belly. That being said, one of my mommy's best friend's dog suffered an esophageal obstruction from a Greenie. But another friend's dog actually died from esophageal perforation from eating a plain ol' stick from the back yard... Being that my mommy has worked in veterinary medicine for 17 years, she tries to be understanding of everyone's point of view. But the truth is, she's seen dogs die from rubber balls, Nyla-bones, rawhides, and a multitude of other products designed for dogs to play with. Will she continue to give me Greenies? Of course she will, because the torturous high pitched whistle will be utilized if she tries to deny me this. But as with any treat, I will never be allowed an edible toy while I am alone. And for the record, it is physically impossible for a dog to instinctively mask the effects of an intestinal obstruction of any type. This is just not in the category of hideable ailments.

So you ask, what is the moral of this story? I guess if I had to commit to one, I would have to say that this issue has far too many facets for me to believe a black & white position could ever be logically reached. So how about we all do what we truely believe to be in the best interest of our loved ones, and allow others to do the same without passing judgment.

Yes, I'll have that dance...

I have survived another winter day in Minnesota. This past weekend, we had a low temperture of 18 below zero, with a wind chill factor of 58 below zero. For those of you in California- and heck, even Pennsylvania- that's arfing cold... For a bitch of Middle Eastern decent, born in southern California, with a natural anatomy of zero percent body fat, I figure I must have done something pretty nefarious in a past life to have been burdoned with my current Minnesota residence. I have tried to reason with my mommy, with no success. I have tried to convince her to move us to a more comfortable location. She loves it here in Minnesota. Even dragged my daddy here from Boston. At this point, I have given up hope of moving to a warmer climate and have even decided to embrace my frozen tundra. No more complaining about inadvertantly slipping into a chinese split every time I try to potty on the ice. No more squinting my eyes in disgust every time my face receives a blast of arctic air. As a gesture of good will and in celebration of all that is cold, I have decided to take up ice-dancing with Dexter. We will be practicing this art between my naps and his flouncing about the practice show ring. We are sure to be a success as there are very few dogs and bitches on the ice with more grace and style... Watch for us in 2010. I will be wearing sequins and feathers. Dexter will be wearing lycra, with a bare rhinestone embellished chest. It's gonna be great.

She's finally lost it

My mommy and I have officially reconciled after our recent spat. She has agreed to "let me be me" and I have agreed to reveal all of my household hiding places for her credit card information. She let me keep the Prada boots, but made me return all of the accessories... (No Sage Green matching backpack, Vincent.) I never implied that living with me would be uncomplicated. After 13 years, mommy should be comfortable with that.

Reconciliation aside, today I truely question her sanity. She just tried to do something to me that I found to be in questionable taste. As I was lying peacefully on my luxurious faux-fur dog bed, basking in the morning sun-rays, she snuck in and attempted to... how shall I describe this... turn me on my BACK. Have you ever really studied my anatomy, friends? I have prominent vertabrae. I don't lie on my back. I don't care that I happen to be lying on a 12" high, puffy, $300 dog bed. I just don't DO it. As we struggled for a full 10 seconds- her arms flying in attempt to turn me, my long legs flailing in protest, she with a determined grimace on her face, I with a look of shocked horror on mine, her eyes narrowed, my eyes wide with fear- I tried to understand, but ultimately could not... I broke free from the assault and ran to the bedroom door, stole one last glance back to my defeated mommy crouched on the floor next to my bed, ran full speed down to the safety of the basement and quickly curled up by the fireplace on bed # 2, quickly forgetting that my own mommy just scared the dog-pi$$ out of me.

Oh, she apologized. And then tried to explain to me that this attempt to photograph me on my back was in fact to show solidarity to my friend Francis. And to Francis, I must in turn apologize. My solidarity will have to be verbal, my friend. For there are some things on which a 13 year old sight hound just can't compromise...

A February Day

Mommy: "Seva... DO something, would you?"

Seva: "What do you want I should do?"

Mommy: "ANYthing. I am under enormous pressure to update your diary and you don't DO anything but sleep."

Seva: "Let's see what your repertoire of activity is when YOU are 95."

Mommy: "Between DETH missions you are USE-less. I've never seen a living thing sleep so much." (takes Seva's pulse) "Are you, in fact, living?"

Seva: "What do you want me to do? Tap dance? Clean the kitchen? Ice skate in the backyard of this Dog-forsaken tundra?"

Mommy: "Forget it. I'm putting the cats on Catster. At least they give me material. I can't work like this." (walks out of the room)

Seva: (eyes narrowing) "You wouldn't..."

Mommy: (walks back into the room) Just WATCH me! (walks back out of the room)

Seva: (big sigh... mimicking her mommy) "Seva DO something, blah blah blah..." Sashays up to the computer. Makes herself comfortable in the chair. Suppresses a yawn with her perfectly manicured, dainty paw. Rifles under the computer desk. Finds the hidden post-it note with mommy's credit card number documented. Beginning her coerced activity, types www.Prada.com. "THIS ought to make her happy." Suddenly a smile creeps across Seva's angelic face as she places another pair of thigh-high stilleto boots into her virtual shopping cart. This pair sage green. She continues her shopping. "Mommy's right. This is so much better than sleeping..." The computer coo's "Add to shopping cart, Seva dear?" Seva replies, "Why YES, dear computer." (diabolical laughter fills the office...)

it's MY bed

This morning, at 3:00 a.m. I took a stand. Every night I do my best to tolerate a large group of living things congregating on MY bed for a comfortable night of rest. Mommy, Daddy, and three cats sprawl all over the fluffy platform without me uttering one word of displeasure. I never express the unfairness of this arrangement. Oh, of course they try to invite me up every night but that's just a disgusting concept... Sharing the bed with 3 cats who would be sure to steal any opportunity to cover my nostrils with tiny puffy paws in a direct attempt to suffocate me?! No thanks. I think a more reasonable arrangement would be for every one of them to offer ME the bed and they could find a nice place on the floor. They don't see it this way. But last night, as I awoke on my luxery dog cushion, I decided that I was going to have my place on the community bed. I crawled up, tip-toed to the head of the bed, sniffed mommy's face to make sure the cats hadn't suffocated her, stared at her until she woke up and properly addressed me, then proceeded to turn 16 circles and plopped down right between mommy and daddy- directly on top of a cat. In a disrespectful gesture, the cat squeaked (PRETTY sure I heard a distinct "arF-U fat-a$$"). She dislodged herself from under my boney ribcage and moved over one foot to regain her slumber. I slept pretty well until 7am when mommy woke me up to feed me 1/2 of a banana. What a delightful way to wake up in the morning. When you want something in this world, you just have to take it. (Yes, I'll have that fluffy bed AND the banana, thank you...)

Dentyne Queen!

Lyle developed a new Gum Chewer’s Club. He has named me President and ordained me Dentyne Queen, a most prestigious honor. I rappelled to the top of said organization due to my uncanny skills in obtaining gum...

I find mommy’s purse and creep into a quiet corner where I will not be noticed. This is especially successful when mommy and daddy have already retired to bed for the evening. I then unzip the purse gently. I am careful to cause no injury to the purse, neither through the carrying nor the unzipping process. When I find what I’m looking for, I remove it from the purse without removing any extraneous objects in addition to the gum. I then set the purse aside. (I do not, however, zip the purse back up.) If the gum is protected with tiny paper covers, I delicately un-wrap each piece of gum and leave the paper on the floor beside me. I chew each piece of yum-yum with my eyes closed and a smile on my face. I prefer no specific flavor- any gum will do. If the gum happens to be encased in plastic blister package format, I pop each piece of gum out without chewing up the plastic. Talented, to be sure… As I have fully admitted to Lyle, it would not be beneath me to blame the witnessed destruction on the nearest cat when mommy and daddy appear with hands on hips and accusatory finger pointing to the evidence. But as is also the upside of gum, my fresh breath betrays me.

As President and Queen of the Gum Chewer’s Club, I feel obligated to periodically inform my members of certain obscure issues relating to gum. Today’s lesson… Not all gum is our friend. Take for instance, sugar free gum with the artificial sweetener, Xylitol. Did you know that this ingredient is toxic to you, my friends? With but a few pieces ingested, our blood sugar levels will drop like an over-achieving golden retriever given the command DOWN! This would quickly lead to serious adversity. We would stagger, we would pass out, and immediate veterinary care would be imperative. End of lesson # 1. (Sorry about the morose reminder of our fragility, my subjects. My mommy is involved in veterinary toxicology and thought my new position compelled me to stand up and say something about this little-known fun-fact….)

So go ahead and chew that gum, my darling subjects/constituents! But PLEASE… read the label first!

(Saluki General Warning: For those of you who cannot read, please avoid gum-chewing.)