The Ruby Rose Report

It has now been four weeks since I came down the escalator at TF Green airport and started my campaign to be the most fly dog who has ever lived with my parents. No disrespect to the ones before me, but I will be making this poop happen to like a rap star.

On Monday, I was put in my sky blue zipper-injected ragtop superfly dog buggy while my parents wasted time and got sweaty battling nature's desire for the weeds and grass to grow. They shouldn't have ever invented lawns. Indians had it right. The Gods own the land; let them manage it. At first, I watched my parents like an overseer from a covered wagon. Then I got tired of spectating and decided to chew some, but they put nothing in with me because they don't let me chew unless they are watching me. After all, me chewing is a lot more interesting than them filling up bags with yard refuse. So, I decided to chew the inside of a buggy and was told no, then I chewed my foot and was told no. Man, fieldhands always are in a bad mood. What's a girl to do to get boned in the buggy?

The next day I got put in the crate for about a half hour. I hated it, but Foley stressed that a professional dog doesn't complain about being in the crate. I took the advice to heart even though Foley spent no time in her crate. She says if you act like it doesn't bother you, the sooner they spring you like parole for good behavior. I'm looking forward to Foley learning me lots of stuff.


Daddy came home alone, and I discovered what men without women do for the first time. The answer was to watch YouTube and snooze. That were two of my favorite activities as well. Luckily there were no videos of dogs or horses which always make me charge the TV to stand up and bark. Sometimes I do it when a black person comes on too. My parents think I'm a little racist, but it's just I'm from Florida.  

After a few hours, the phone rang, and I could hear my mama on the other end, so I was happy to discover he had not clubbed her with a shovel and buried her in the woods. Daddy asked if I wanted to go with him to get mommy, and of course, I said yes. He shoved me in a backpack which wasn't very comfortable. I guess it was to keep me from distracting him while he was driving. I thought this was a mistake. I'm a better copilot than God.

Thankfully I was not in the bag for long. Mommy had gone to her groomer, and when she saw I was out of the bag and now a passenger, she scooped me up to show me to her groomer and said this was the look she wanted next time. When she is in pain or tired, she has my frown down. All she's got to do is let the facial hair grow, and she'll be in business.

I have so much more to report, but reporting is tiring, and I need to chew myself to sleep on my mommy's laugh next to my stuffed red dog.

I am living the dream.