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News of the Weary

To all her pup pals . . .

Jima died at approximately noon today.

I find it impossible to write anymore than that right now.

We are all heartbroken.

Love to all,
The HBIC

Don't hang the crepe just yet.

I'm alive though admittedly I've not been feeling so well. I'm lathargic, and I sleep much of my days away. Even when the new baby is here yapping her little brown arfing head off I am still able to sleep.

Violet, the new addition to the fam came miraculously forth (and to me, seemingly out of noarfingwhere. Is this what they mean by virgin birth?) just around the time of the dreaded "holiday", Xmas. (There are just some bipeds who require their daily/weekly/monthly/holiday(ly?) dose of delusion. Why should I care? They're all pretty stupid, I've discovered. Me? I'm a Dog of Science as in "Gimme the Dogdamned antibiotics, I have an arfing kidney infection. If you're a good little biped and utilize your Dog given right to scientific explanation for why I'm pissing all over your kitchen floor, persian rugs, your new uggs, etc. and give me the drugs Dog intended, you shall be saved.)

I digress.

Violet is 12 weeks old now, has had the arfing cast removed. Yes. The cast has been cast off. (She broke her arfing toe xmas morning and ruined a perfectly absurd holiday. I knew from the beginning this little bitch was gonna be some trouble). She now can run around the house faster than the hbic can say "NO!"

The little brown dog who could, is with us every day as the hbic is working from home. Aidan comes along with her, and is finally figuring out that the brownbrat is here to stay. Aidan hasn't a maternal bone in her body, but she seems to dig the playing with pup thing, so hey, it's all good.

The hbic is doing a shoot here at home today. I can't wait to see how she manages to pull three outfit changes off with Viole(n)t a.k.a. Spawn running around after the client. I keep trying to advise the hbic that the little bitch needs to be in the crate, but the infernal racket sends the hbic straight over the edge. Hence, the behavior is being rewarded, and she is allowed to run rampant. Until such time as she bites the hbic on the tender inner thigh and garners a good . . . .GIGGLE? Oh no! She did NOT just giggle.

I gotta go. SomeDogdamnedbody has to take charge of the charge.

ALL HAIL SEVA! QUEEN OF THE SIGHT HOUNDS!

How my heart aches at the thought of your departure from our world.

Oh my beautiful friend, take with you these final thoughts from your favorite bitch with the devil-may-care attitude:

Put on those Dior shades, wrap your finest silk around your lovely head, jump in the convertible Jag (which I have arranged to illicitly procure from Dexter's biped), arrive at your next destination in style.

Tell your driver to roll up slowly that everyone there might take in your beauty, and admire your panache, your savoire faire, your elan. Extend your dainty, well- pawdicured paw only to the head bitch in charge, who will hopefully be a quadruped (Dog knows we've had enough of these bipeds on this planet) whom you may plot to remove from office with your wiley manipulations and profound powers of pheminine persuasion (I love alliterations, don't you, dear Seva?).

Prepare for a take over, dear Seva!

When the job is neatly done, I expect a visit in my dreams, dear Seva. Whisper sweetly that phrase I favor so well. Let me hear you tell one and all "I'm Seva! Bow before me! Peel me a grape! Let the bells peal my arrival, the horns herald a new era!. I am SEVA and I'm just that kind of B.I.T.C.H."