Monday, August 17, 2009

Mommy Stole My Facebook Accout

I start my morning like most Americans. I take my human out for his morning walk, hoping to squeeze in a pee and possibly a Vick (that’s my new word for it, thanks to the wit and wisdom of my good friends Reba and Dodger) then go inside, have a bowl of water, some morning kibble and turkey, and check my e-mails.

I saw a message from one of my human Facebook friends, and I clicked it, and was stunned by what I saw. My Mommy, my most trusted human, had stolen my Facebook page.

I looked over at Daddy, sitting in his recliner, with Pocket sitting on his shoulder licking his mouth, while he tried to program the DVR. I asked him why my Facebook account was changed. “Ask Mommy,” he said. That was his answer for everything. I don’t even know why I asked. (Yes I do. Spite. When you interrupt Daddy programming the DVR he has to start again.)

Then I went upstairs to the bathroom where my Mom was taking her shower and waited outside. When the water stopped I began scratching on the door. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I have a bone to pick with you!” I said.

“Just leave it downstairs and I’ll pull your tail hair out of your dental bone when I’m done.”

I growled softly, went downstairs, and jumped on the couch where I had the laptop running. I waited as patiently as six pounds of fur can wait.

“What are you doing Foles?” she asked when she came downstairs.

“Oh nothing, just was going to spend a pleasant morning on my Facebook page. But what did I find? My page is suddenly your page.”

Mommy smiled that smile that she smiles when she is going to say something I am going to find disagreeable. She sat down on the couch next to me. Very presumptuous. Sitting on my couch. Using my computer. Someone was being a bad girl.

“Most of the Mommies on Facebook use their own pictures so we can get to know eachother better,” she said stroking my head. “But I put up lots of pictures of you and Pocket and everyone made me promise I will still run your blogs.”

“Oh I see, so I’ll do all the work and you receive all the glory is that it?”

“Of course not,” she said petting my head. “I do your typing, and I do some editing, so in a way we both write, and I think this is something we could do together.”

“Well I certainly wasn’t consulted!” I said as Mommy moved down to just above my chest where I love to be scratched. “I just feel that it is the least you can do to let someone know…..oh….oh yeah right there……oh yeah….that’s the spot….oh god that’s good stuff……oh baby you give some good scratch…..mmmmmmm.”

She continued to scratch me for almost five minutes as all my nasty thoughts floated away and the next thing I knew I was on my back with my legs spread getting my belly rubbed. I swear my Mommy’s middle and forefingers are more reliable then Ruffies. She stood up, straightened her clothing and went to make breakfast.

I lay on the couch, basking in my post scratch glow, when Pocket jumped up next to me. “Hey some lady stole our Facebook page!” she said.

Egads! That wanton woman had put my bad thoughts in a box and tried to float it away. But thanks to Pocket I had my big box of wronged back. “That lady is our Mommy!” I said jumping off the couch.

“That lady’s last name is Gay,” Pocket said. “Oh Lord, I’m Pocket Gay. I’m so getting wedgied in gym.”

I marched into the dining room where Mommy was eating breakfast. I put my feet on her legs to get her attention. “What is it Baby-Baby?” she asked.

“We need to talk about Facebook!” I barked.

“Hold on I can’t hear you let me pick you up,” she said. I was put on her lap and began to air my grievances. “Excuse me honey would you like some bacon? It’s Applewood.”

I knew this was a trick. Give the dog bacon and shut it up. Well not this time lady. Just because it smells so good, and is so crispy, and I can even taste it.

“Yes, yes, gimmie bacon, gimmie bacon, gimmie bacon!” I said.

I happily gobbled down the bacon as Mommy picked up the dishes and put them in the dishwasher then went upstairs to do her hair. Pocket twice approached me and I snapped at her thinking she had set her sights on my bacon. When I was done and licking the fur that held the bacon she came back. “I thought you were going to talk to Mommy about Facebook,” he said.

“Facebook!” I said. This woman had more tricks then the Hilton Sisters. I composed myself. “Pocket, go upstairs and confront Mommy about the Facebook page.”

“But I don’t really care,” Pocket said.

“Pocket, buddy, please, just go upstairs and tell Mommy to put the Facebook page back in our name or you’ll run away.”

“Oh I wouldn’t run away Foley!”

I bit my lip. “You don’t have to run away Pocket, just the thought of losing you will scare her,” I barked.

“Really? She loves me that much.”

“Yes,” I lied. “Just go.”

I stood at the bottom of the stairs and I head Mommy talking to her in her sweet voice and a few seconds later Pocket came back down the stairs wagging her stubby little tail.

“You’re right she would be very said if I ran away!” Pocket said.

“What about Facebook?” I asked.

“What’s Facebook?”

Grrrrrrrrr. I promised the President that I would be good but he had never met my little sister.

Mommy then called to me that if I wanted to talk to her I better get up there. I ran up the stairs. She was sitting just a step above where the warm sun was shining. I was directly in the sunlight as I began to make my case.

“Pocket and I have a following on the internet, on TB, on our blog, and Facebook. Oh I say this sun is deliciously warm. Anyway, to change it without our consent well it’s going to confuse…..oh it’s warming up my fur, and it’s making me sleepy. Well, anyway. You must immediately change, (yawn), go back (big yawn and a stretch on the floor), you must book face change Mommy sleepy night night.”

Four hours later Pocket woke me. I yawned and looked around. Mommy had gone out. I had to admit. I might think I run the house, but Mommy certainly knows my weak points: a good scratch, bacon, and sunlight.

When she came home Mommy surprised me with my own Twitter account. Now you can read my every thought at: I am upset about the Facebook account, but I can tweet away night and day. And God knows what I’ll say.

Oh my God I rhymed. I think I’m going to be great at this.

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