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A Mini Me!

 

Mom flew to California

and hung out with my cousin Kramer.

Took him to the beach.

CUZ, AWESOME DOWN DOG!

Between you and me, her pictures ticked me off.

Kramer, I understand.

He’s family.

And this one I get.

Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandma and Big-Fat-Bonnie.

Or is that Abby?

But so MANY pics of

Mini Me?

Course, he’s cute.

He looks like me.

Only smaller.

Like half my size smaller.

She said, “Welsh.”

Whatever.

 

If she thinks I’d share the truck back-seat with a mini-me,

she’s sadly mistaken.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Silent Type

I

don’t mind

funky BIG dudes.

lil’ squirts.

even

Attentionmongers.

But,

this Silent Bro

FREAKED me OUT!

He stood there like I was

Invisible.

Guess he didn’t see the sign behind him.

Wait.

Maybe he can’t read.

That’s it.

He’s jealous.

Why else would he ignore me?

 

 

Dear Martha:

Until recently, you meant nothing to me.

I might have heard your name, even caught your show.

But last night,

lo and behold, we stumbled onto you in between the knock-off stuffed animals with stick-on eyeballs

and the gourmet foods at Petsmart.

Sure, we came for my dietary needs.

But, you make bears and bees, pigeons and kitties!

Mom reminded me my “issues” require special food and that food’s not cheap.

I pointed to the guarantee. Offered to make-do with store brand in exchange for one of your pigeons.

I begged, pleaded.

Trust me, it wasn’t pretty, a full-grown Airedale melting in the middle of Petsmart.

Mom told me “Martha’s too expensive. Each toy is $11!”

And then she grabbed this:

and then this:

That’s the reason for my letter.

In all your years of doling out household advice,

You must know a simple household remedy

to remove a pathetic frog’s paper eyeballs from the back of a dog’s throat.

Sincerely,

George

“A Martha-devotee forever”

 

 

 

 

 

A Spring Ritual

I love my blankie’s multi-hued, natural tones.

But each Spring, when the temp steps above 60,

I submit to a Horrific Ritual.

With great trepidation,

I relinquish my armor to three desperadoes.

1. Two Speed Andis (whose touch can be downright scorching).

2. A Brush (designed by cave-women to torture their young).

3. SNIPS (that “clip-clip” sends Willies down my spine!)

Each year, their combined force

shreds my blankie,

(note the cool dust pan from Restoration Hardware)

sends my heart racing and my salivation glands into overdrive.

Traumatized,

I retreat to the other room and assess the situation.

True,

I hate these spiteful flunkies.

But,

without their skill,

their wit,

and their undying attention to detail,

I could not feel sooooooooo good.

Whoo-weeeeeee!

Absolutely giddy!

Go ahead.

You can say it.

Come Spring, with a little help…

.

.

.

I transform into one damn good-lookin’ dude.

 

 

YOU’RE HOME!

Really, I’m not jealous.

If I’d been INVITED on your little trip, I might have noticed him.

His name’s Clyde?

Can’t see it.

“CLYDE!”

“Fetch!”

Nope.

Not seeing it.

And this one?

Ahhh, you liked him because he’s stalking a pigeon?

If he had it flapping in his mouth, maybe.

Yeah, it’s good to see you too.

No, I’m fine.

I can see over your luggage.

Yep, had fun at the kennel.

(I think I got a booger.)

Missed you too.

Ooh! We’re stopping?

I get to go too?

Wait a minute. I’ve been here before…

You think I stink? Did you smell that girl across the room?

 

I’M FINE!

You say you’re going?

So…

GO!

I’m fine. I like daycare, remember?

Just don’t be gone TOO long.

KISSES!!!

George

The RESULTS ARE IN…

BUSTED.

Dr. Bush called with the blood test results.

Basically, he said:

I ATE my way to that SIX pound weight gain!

So, he put me on a diet.

1 AND 1/2 CUP OF DRY (SENSITIVE STOMACH) FOOD DIET TWICE A DAY.

Even when it’s served on a pretty Spode plate, it’s still the same amount.

Looks downright pitiful when it’s spelled out. Admit it, you agree.

Dr. Bush said if I start begging (totally out of character, but anyway), he suggested baby carrots (or worse, green beans).

So, I was thinking.

Jenny’s got a two-legged spokesperson named George.

Why not four?

“MOM!”

MOM!”

Call Jenny!”

“Pleeeese?”

“Tell her I’m available.”

“Cheap.”

“Definitely better looking.”

“And DAG-(or is it DOG)-gone STARVING!”

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