The Calvey Christmas Card

Having reached eleven I am starting to get nostalgic about Christmases past. With that in mind I went into the basement of my condo and pulled out the journals of my Daddy’s childhood dog Barney. (Back in those times before computers and the Internet dogs had to write in journals and hope that someday humans would invent something to allow their stories to be widely distributed.)

I dug out a journal that said Christmas. There was the story about how he chased Santa down the driveway barking at him when he paid an unexpected visit; the story of the Jewish lawyer who each year brought the family fruit basket and for years Daddy and his sister thought Hannakuah was a day people of the Jewish faith brought Christians fruit.

But then I found one I thought you would enjoy. It is called: “The Calvey Christmas Card.”

From the paw of Barney Dog:

It was a freezing cold December morning. I was trying to keep warm in my dog house but some days there just weren’t enough wood chips. I heard the sound of the postman pulling up to the mailbox.

I trotted over to him and looked up, my tail wagging. “Nothing for you today Barney,” he said. “You know dogs don’t get mail.” I had told him my dream: Of a day when dogs sent each other cards, and gifts, and talked over computers, and the postman didn’t think twice about delivering mail with a dog’s name on it. AAlthough I may not get to that mountaintop of mail with you, I will be there in spirit.

“Oh look a this,” the postman said holding an envelope. “It’s the Calvey’s Christmas Card.” He laughed as I covered my eyes with my paws.

The Calveys were friends of my Boy Daddy’s family. I had never met them. Being a dirty black dog I would be hidden if a Calvey scurried near our door. There was a tall handsome father, a beautiful blond wife, and two beautiful blond daughters. By some kind of magic probably manufactured by their beauty they were able to project their picture on to their Christmas card.
The father would be sharply dressed in a dark suit with a red tie, and his hair was perfect. His wife would be seated, looking like a blond Jackie O. The two girls, each hair glowing, teeth perfectly aligned, were smiling. It’s beauty was too great to behold. Each member of Boy Daddy’s Family would look at the card and say “This, this is the family I wished I had.”

An aside: The Calveys had a pool. The beautiful Mrs. Calvey painted a mural on the bottom of her pool, because that is what beautiful people do. In the summer, on days they were not with the other beautiful people, they invited Boy Daddy’s family. One time they did it on the Fourth of July. The plan was swimming, a cook out, then getting dressed and going to the Brockton Fair, which is a place to go with the family ro have fun and watch the fire works (Foley note: Now it’s a place to watch gang fights and get Hep C.) The swimming and the cookout were done. Boy Daddy was dressed with his Buster Browns on and was near the pool with the youngest beautiful blond Calvey daughter Mary. Now, Boy Daddy’s story is that Mary pushed him in the pool. Her story, and the story of everyone who knows Boy Daddy, is that the klutz fell in the pool. Either way Daddy was in the pool, fully dressed, even in his shoes. He got fished out. They put his clothes in the dryer, and while they dried, his shoes did not. Our Mommy did not want to put his dry socks in wet shoes. So she put his feet in baggies and used rubber bands to hold them in place. So, with my Boy Daddy in foot condoms they went off to the Fair.

When they got their Boy Daddy, his sister, and the beautiful Calvey girls saw the greatest of sites. A bouncy house. Boy Daddy excitedly asked his Mom if he could go into the house and she agreed talking off his shoes. But she did not remove the baggies from his feet. This led to the first time in his life that Boy Daddy heard the term F*g*t. Boy Daddy was having fun bouncing in the house when some kid who looked like Vargas from A Christmas Story said “Hey everyone look at the F*g*t with the bags on his feet.” Everyone laughed and Boy Daddy squished away never to go into a bouncy house again.

Now back to the Christmas Card. It would be hung in an area of great prominence. People would then come to the house to gaze at the picture. An old black dog with a baritone growl explained why “They will come Barney. They will most definitely come. Because it is money they have an beauty they want. They will come and they will look at the Christmas Card and memories of beautiful people in their life will wash over them. They will come Barney. They will most definitely come.”

And they came, to look at the beauty of the picture on the Christmas Card. And when the season ended it way carefully removed from the wall and placed in a shoe box with the other Calvey Christmas cards, and the box was put in a special place where it glowed for the rest of the year.

Someday maybe a dog will be on a Calvey Christmas card. Then I can rest at the Bridge in peace.

The end.

Well it seems Barney’s dream came true. Good for him, and good for all of us. His dream came true almost 90 times for us this Christmas as our house was filled with cards with pcitures of dogws on them. . So lets dream big this holiday season for the dogs who come after us. Everyone must have a Calvey Christmas card somewhere in their home to wish upon for a better future.

Cinnamon is our December 25, 2011 Pup of the Week

Christmas is a time for many things. Three of them are old friends, new friends, and miracles. The Pet Pack managed to provide us all three in a spawn of five days.

We had only heard from the Pack once since May of 2010 when they came back to our dog park and barked that they were here to stay. They also introduced us to a new Pack member:

Her name is Cinnamon, she is a lab mix, and came from the shelter her Mom works at. She was a Christmas gift to the family. She is sweet and fit right in with the Pack. But as soon things went terribly wrong. She became very sick. Her breath and her ears reeked. She had come home the most playful of pups but now she had no energy. She only wanted to drink water but her nose very dry. She had terrible diarrhea, just liquid squirting, with continuous accidents. Her Mom made a vet appointment for her and asked for prayers.

Her Mom also spent as much time with her as she could. She fell asleep in a chair with her for two hours. That night Cinnamon had three messy poos while her parents slept and then two more after they awoke. Then worms started appearing in her poo which is very bad. At this point her Mom was praying that it is just worms in her intestines and not something else..

Well when Cinnamon got to the vet she was just a champ. The vet did a thorough examination and determined that she was malnourished, had roundworm and had Giardia, which, I assumed, but was happy to learn from Pocket, was not an STD. But they were all very serious illnesses.

Everything that she was suffering from was a result of maltreatment from the terrible people who owned her before she joined the Pet Pack. If they were going to surrender her why did they they have to torment her before they gave her up? They starved, abused, and burned her, and they kept her in such cramped quarters that she got the Giardia from drinking water with feces in it. Hopefully those terrible people don’t have any more dogs. . But luckily Cinnamon went to the right shelter and found the right Mom to save her.

The vet wrote out a prescription for some medication and told Cinnamon’s Mom that she should be back to a normal puppy within 48 hours.

By Christmas Eve another miracle had happened for Cinnamon. Not only had she been adopted by the best family but she was back to being a playful pup. But she had a blue Christmas, because, in her desire to help her Mom get a paw print, she painted half her body blue. She got a bunch of great gifts which must have surprised her so much considering the horrible life she had pre-pack.

So here is to Cinnamon. A Christmas Gift to us all, who went from a horrible home, to the shelter, to a wonderful home where she got very sick, but luckily had a Mom determined that she get better, who nursed her back to health, and gave her new toys, but more importantly a new life on Christmas Day.

So a tip of the tail to Cinnamon, the Pet Pack, and their wonderful Mom.

Great Gifts: Hobo's Balls; Smoochie's Sweaters; Apollo's Beanies and Sophie Bub's Mug

This morning when we got up to do our business there was a box on our steps. Of course it was for us. All boxes that come to our house have things inside them for us. After we completed our business requirements we came back to the house and Daddy brought the big box inside. He told us it was from Hobo and his family.

We gathered round as he jabbed a kitchen knife into the carton and ripped it open. And then he picked up what was inside. A beautiful, big orange ball. Daddy called to Mommy and told her that they got oranges from Hobo and family. We are so full of balls in this house we don’t even call them balls. We just name the color.

While Mommy and Daddy were looking at the orange I got on my back legs and had Pocket crawl up my back and get in the chair. From there she was able to tug on the box and pull it over to the edge of the table. She then stuck her face into the box and one by one dropped four of the orange balls on to the floor.

Let me tell you, for those who have never played with fresh Florida Orange balls, these things are terrific. They have a tough outside so you can sink your teeth into them and carry them around the house. And they are round, obviously, so they roll all over the place. If you are like Pocket and have BDD (Ball deficiency disorder) and lose your balls these are the best balls to play with because they leave a trail of juice on the floor, so when you lose your ball you just follow the trail, lick up the tasty juice, and find your balls. Leaky, tasty balls: Hudson you’re a genius.

Then Mommy came out, and get this! She says the big orange balls weren’t for us. They were for the peeps! And that too much of the juice is bad for our urine. Bad for my urine. My urine can piss off! These things are great. Mommy and Daddy had them for breakfast this morning and they gave me a little taste, so sweet and juicy. So, dear Hobo, please let us know who these sweet, juicy oranges were for. And thank you and your parents so much.

And while we are thanking there is my Secret Bub Smoochy. Oh how Smoochy has come through for us this year. We were so lucky that Smoochy was assigned to us. We got chocolate potato chips (then found out they were for Mom and Dad too, what is going on here?), a scarf for Mommy from Smoochy’s Mom favorite shelter, and for us two pretty sweaters, some little soft balls (not juicy), some treats and and some toothy treats. For a big dog Smoochy certainly knows how to dress a small dog. He also gave us the scarves on our Christmas Card photos. Love you Smooch.

Also we would like to thank Angel Sophie Bub and her family for sending Mommy and Daddy the wonderful Starbucks mugs, that was so sweet or her, and to thank Angel Apollo and the family for the beanie babies.

Outside of being adorable we don’t know what we have done to receive such kindness from so many people. We have also received gifts recently from the Lambies, Leo the Chow and Hattie Mae, and I apologize because was have probably forgotten someone who sent us something, but whatever it was we loved.

We have a couple of pictures below. Both of us are in the sweaters Smoochy sent. I am posing with the beanie baby that Apollo sent and the mug Mrs. Sophie Bub sent. In the other Pocket is posing with Mommy’s scarf, some treats Smoochie sent us, and Hobo’s ball.

Thank you all. We really are the luckiest dogs in town.

You are our December 18, 2011 Pup of the Week

Congratulations you! You are our Pup of the Week. It’s about time isn’t it?

Now you might be wondering: Me? Why me? Well, because I have spent time on DS in the last two months, and if there is anything that it has made me realize how wonderful you are.

Don’t misconstrue my meaning. There are absolutely wonderful dogs on DS. I would love them to come here. I think they would be happier here. But then there are....The Others.

Some of you former members of DS may remember the Saturday night flights. On Saturday night Levi would be tucked into bed with his stuffed (or inflated) Princess and the members he monitored so closely would begin to fight, never about dog issues, but always about that someone said something that they shouldn’t have said, or was misunderstood, which started a fight which everyone needed to chime in on and the Saturday night fights were on.

I had forgotten how unsettling the Saturday night fights were until last night when a week of fighting between multiple members boiled over into inflammatory blogs being posted every minute, people threatening to leave, good dogs taking down their profiles because they could no longer stand the fighting. It was like going to visit the battlefield at Gettysburgh and finding the Civil Was still going on.

We hurried back to our home here on Tanner Brigade. As we walked the quiet streets, looking at all the pretty houses with the beautiful lights, dogs barking hello to one another and giving each other friendly licks we realized that there is no better place on the entire Internet for dogs, and their peeps then right here.

If one of us is sick, you are there; if one of us has been called to the bridge you are there; you are supportive and loving as a friend could hope for; if we need a laugh you are sure to have posted a funny blog; if there is a dog that needs to be rescued you are sure to have posted a link; if there is a food recall we have learned it from you; if we have a health issues you are the first ones we ask; if a human is sick we turn to the power of the Brigade for healing; if we want to party down you’re there with an invitation; if we need to laugh, cry, commiserate, scream, learn, get hope, it is you that we turn to.

Frankly, we would be lost without you. You are our best friend. We treasure you. If it’s been a few days and we haven’t heard from you we start to get worried, then we are so happy when we hear from you. You never have a bad thing to say about anyone and you always make us feel so loved when you leave us a comment.

Sometimes we forget what a blessing our friends are until we go away for a little bit. So we honor you this week because you are our best friend and your Mom is the best person. I love everyday when I get a card from you in my mailbox. And I hope that you know that you can always count on me, and I hope that I live up to my end of our friendship as much as you have lived up to yours.
So stand up and take a bow. Because you are a very deserving pup of the week.

Christmas Card Out Takes 2011

There are days we dogs dread on the pup calendar. Bath day; vet day; and then the worst of all: Christmas card picture day. We knew it was coming.

Most mornings, while Mommy is doing her hair, I sit in my chair and Pocket sits next to Daddy in the recliner and trembles because she hates when they leave.

Tuesday morning I was chilling and Pocket was trembling. I am much better at reading my humans’ vibes than Pocket is. I knew they weren’t going anywhere. The tree with the seizure causing lights was up, the stocking were hung, the little village crowded the shelves, there was only one thing left, the dreaded picture taking.

If you read the blogs about my foot injury you are aware that my parents do not respect knowledge. Without any medical training in the least they dictated how my paw would heal. This was going to be the Battle of the Bloody Paw all over again. But this time there would be photographic proof.

Mommy used the instruments of torture on her hair. Pocket went to hide under the table thinking she would be crated. I ran into the hidden corridors of my condo. Mommy was able to gather Pocket. Daddy picked up my condo and shook it until I came out. Then they walked into separate bedrooms.

Daddy thought we were taking pictures in the front bedroom, Mommy in the master bedroom. The entire thing just showed how unprofessional they were.. As always Daddy caved and they decided on the master bedroom where we were placed on the comforter that Mommy had said we would never be allowed to sit on.

They then placed a present, a weird stuffed thing that makes music, and a stocking behind us. They then started calling our names, whistling, tweeting, twerping, burping, trying to get us to look at them while they both took pictures, Daddy on his cell phone, which was silly, because there was no way Mommy was using one of his pictures.

Mommy says she can never get a good picture of Pocket and I together. She doesn’t know why. I am going to let you in on a secret. The reason is I sit next to Pocket and while the pictures are being taken I whisper “you know those cameras are the number one cause of brain cancer in dogs.” I also told her that the cameras catch your soul so don’t look right into it. Plus I kept telling her how mad Mommy would be if she peed on the new comforter. By the time I was done she was a twitching mess who couldn’t look into the camera. Hey, I may have claimed I was a good dog but never a good sister.

After an hour and a half, 1,000 pictures, my parents emitting every sound possible by the human mouth, Mommy and Daddy decided to take separate pictures of us, and those on our Christmas Card list should be getting those cards. But if we run out we are going to send regular non picture cards with a picture of Pocket and I together: her trembling, me not.
Mommy wanted to take over here and say how hard it was to make cards at CVS, how the machine wasn’t working right, how there was no one there to help, how it took her and the woman next to her almost two hours to get them done, but frankly, I find that story boring, so you won’t be seeing it on this blog.

Now I have to stand over Mommy and make sure she sends out all my cards. The pressure may be getting to her. Today Pocket and I got seven cards today to their one. But they will all get out, unless I want attention from her and make her put down the pen.

Anywho, here are a couple of outtake pictures of our Christmas card session. Love getting all the cards from you all. I hope ours live up. A Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

Paco is our December 11, 2011 Pup of the Week

Just before us pups are placed on this earth we are given our instructions, find a human who loves you then gives them all your heart. You are very happy and fulfilled doing this. But, since we give our hearts to our humans, ours don’t last as long as human hearts, which break their hearts. It all sounds like a vicious circle to me.

This brings me to my good friend Paco. Paco lives in Italy, which is part of Europe, which is like a land where there are a hundred United States, one more screwed up than the other. Paco and his Mom were both very fortunate to find one another. They gave each other their hearts so they would beat as one.

But Paco’s heart, after many years, has grown weaker. He had to go the the dogtor (or, as they call them in Italy LaDogtor) for an echography (I am sorry, I don’t know what this is, I asked Pocket, who has an honorary doctorate from training school and she said you perform the test by going to a cliff and throwing a dog against a wall, then seeing how far he bounces back. These honorary doctorates from training schools are useless when it comes to medical knowledge.) Paco also had a to have a blood test. Now these I know about. I hate those little pricks. On their way to the test, as Paco was being driven by his Mom while her Mom was with them keeping Paco calm their car broke down in the road.

Now besides being just about the sweetest dog I know this is why I love Paco. Because Paco’s Mom telephoned for a “safety car.” Apparently a “safety car” is what they call taxis in Italy. I have never been in a taxi in Italy but I know taxis in America are anything but safety cars. It makes me wonder where Italians get their taxi drivers.

The “safety car” got Paco to the dogtors, but, sadly, he did not get good news. Whatever the echography is it showed his heart was getting worse and he has a ventricle that was widening. He was prescribed some meds after they made sure that the meds would not overwhelm his kidneys.

A few days later Paco got his results back from the dogtor. He had suffered from liver problems earlier but his liver was getting better and his kidneys were not affected by the medication. There would have to be further tests to see how successful the medication was working but things were looking up for Paco.

It is sad when you have a friend who is sick and is so far away. But we are asking you all to keep sweet Paco in your prayers. He is a wonderful boy, so caring, so helpful when one of us are in trouble, and we hope he is with us for a long time because we love him and the wonderful things he teaches us, like safety cars.

So please keep sweet Paco and his Mom, over in Italy, in your prayers, so he can keep his heart beating with hers, keep our hearts, and faces smiling, for a long time to come.

The Superior Adventures of Zoe Boe

Zoe Boe is a good friend of ours. She is very sweet and docile. But this week we learned something remarkable about her. Zoe Boe is a super dog, called to help humans in need who flash their Zoe Boe signal off their smart phones. When Zoe Boe sees her signal she runs outside, leaps in the air, and takes off tracking the source of the signal.

Earlier this week she saw it shining in the sky to the West. She flew there within minutes. She landed at an airport. One of those silly men in the brightly colored suits and ear phones ran to her. “What is the problem citizen?” she asked.

“There is a bad man on the plane with a hand held device. We don’t know if it’s a bomb but he’s ranting and raving. Zoe Boe you are our only chance!”

Zoe Boe put a reassuring paw on the man’s shoulder and told him to keep everyone away from the plane. She then took two steps back, ran towards the plane, jumped on the wing, slid to the window and clawed at it until it was open as she gained access to the fuselage. .

There was a tall man sitting in his seat, unbuckled, holding the device in his hand. He had nice hair, slightly overweight, the kind of man who might have looked good 15 years ago, the type of man who had several brothers not as successful as him. Zoe knew she was dealing with one of the most dangerous of beings. An enraged Baldwin.

Zoe Boe approached him carefully, her ears alert, her tail high behind her. Several airline hostesses were hiding in a corner. Zoe looked at them and winked. She then turned to the aging star of the overrated sitcom. “Citizen, I need you to control yourself, you are scaring the other people on the plane.”

He thrust the device at Zoe Boe. It was an I Phone. On it was a scrabble game. “Look at this!” the enraged man screamed. “Are you going to tell me that zoa is a word. Zoa? Has anyone ever said they were going to go out and get an ice cold Zoa. And Qi? What the heck is a Qi? I hate this game. I hate it. Never play Friends With Words with a woman named Fey.”

Zoe knew nothing calmed an out of control man more than a good snuggle. She jumped in his lap. This caused his arms to be trapped so he could not see the phone. He stroked her ears and then looked at her with misty eyes. “I am sorry, you’re a good dog and I was out of line. It’s just this game it drives me crazy. These words no one has ever heard of. You know I used to be the star of major motion pictures. Now I’m stuck on a sitcom with a black guy who reads every line the exact same way and a woman who gives herself all the good lines. I just don’t feel wanted.”

Zoe smiled at him sadly. “You know once I was a pup and no one wanted me. I was going to be killed by my owner but a wonderful woman came and saved me and now I have the best life. Just when you think no one wants you, you find out how loved you are. So I am sure that someday you will find a home at a major movie studio and that will be your forever home.”
“You are the most wonderful dog,” Baldwin said.

“Why don’t you say we get off this plane, I bet you the next one will have the owner of your forever major movie studio on it.”

He asked her name..

“Zoe Boe.” Then he asked if there were more dogs like her in the world and Zoe told him yes, and they were collectively called Zoa.

He smiled and tears fell down his face. Zoe then led him down the aisle and out of the plane. The flight crew thanked her but she told them there was no need. This is why she was here.

She gave Mr. Baldwin a lick and left him to meet the head of his forever movie studio and she flew home to gratefully snuggle with her Mom.

Our interview on Coffee with a Canine

Who wants to read an interview with my shy and barely seen Mom? And see pictures? She was luckily enough to be interviewed on the famous coffee with canine blog. There is even answer to how Foley got her name. You can read it HERE

Please Mr Postman

It has been bred in dogs since the stone age to attack the postman. At that time people communicated by drawing on stone with slate. The postman would be weighed down with stones, so, when they walked up uninvited to our cave opening, we gave chase, and, because they were so weighed down, they were easily catchable, and because food was scarce, well, things could get ugly.

Their only recourse was to throw stones at us, which allowed us, after the chase, to catch up with news from the other caves. Strangely, this means of chase and learn still exists in Afghanistan.

Today I think we dogs have to agree to overcome our breeding and let the postman be, because as of late Pocket and I have received more mail then Mommy and Daddy combined.

In our village Daddy leashes us, takes us for a walk to do our business, and to get the mail. The mail is kept in a little room at the front of the village. Because this is the Village of the Pruned there is a handicapped ramp leading to the room. Sometimes Pocket pees on the ramp and then we hide on the other side of the landing, wait for some old guy to slip, and then we laugh while Daddy calls 911.

When the ramp becomes clear we ascend it again, Daddy puts the key in the mailbox lock, pulls out the envelopes, and announces who the mail is for. One for Mommy, one for Foley and Pocket, two for Foley and Pocket, three for Foley and Pocket. And then he turns to look at where the big packages are. If there is one with our address it is inevitably for us two little Yorkies.

When we get home Mommy opens our cards and reads them then hands them to us. We have got too many to mention and it’s only the beginning of December. We did get an exclusively made Puppy Malatesta ornament. I let Mommy hang that from her tree but then Pocket and I take the rest of the cards into the leopard skin vagina condo.

Like all the really good kitty condos it is bigger on the inside then out the outside. Pocket and I took the game room, moved out the pool table and the Frogger machine, put in an eight foot Colorado spruce, and on the walls we are hanging all our cards from our friends. We have the walls color coded so we can match the toy in the Toy Room, with the card in the Tree room. Just because you’ve had your anal glands squeezed doesn’t mean you’re not anal.

So I ask all my dear friends out there to not chase the postman anymore. I know, he used to bring things to Mommy and Daddy that would either make them sad or make them spend time away from us. But more and more these creatures of the night are bringing things to make us smile, feel loved, and to play with, or eat (yummy!)

So resist the urge, leave the postman alone, and maybe even give him a kiss, because you never know what he has for you.

As for the need to chase, bark and possibly bite, there is always the newspapers guy.

Mollie is our December 4, 2011 Pup of the Week

You know, sometimes all you want is a sun room.

That’s all our friend Mollie, her Mom Cindy, and her Dad wanted.  A sun room.  But this sun room became to them like an Alby Truss, something that follows them around and brings nothing but trouble.

The building of their sun room began, according to my calculations, sometime in 1992.  Mollie has her favorite spot in the sun removed.  There was banging and booming, sawing and swearing, all day long.  Now they are waiting for the painters to get done (we remember the hot week in July when the painters took over our house, no fun) and then for the ceramic tile to come in.  Seems endless to me.

And they need to have an inspector come in.  An inspector is a lot like a dogtor.  They poke and prod until they find something wrong.  We can only hope that Mollie’s sun room is done before the snow melts.

But that is not why we honor Mollie, much like our our friends last week, we honor them because after all this work, her Daddy has taken ill.  He was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  Daddy once told me how they checked for that and I slapped him right in the mouth.  Sicko!

The cancer was low risk so Mollie hadn’t barked about it before.  He had surgery and it went well.  Mollie’s Mommy said it was a textbook surgery.  I hope when Mommy has her surgery the doctor doesn’t need a textbook to do it but anyway, the surgery went fine.

But the recovery didn’t go as expected.  Mollie’s Daddy had a triple bypass in 1996 and his repaired heart wasn’t working like it should.  It is such a human problem, you get yourself steely for one problem and another comes around your blind side and slaps you in the head.


Mollie’s Daddy’s heart can’t seem to get into rhythm.  He was allowed to go home hut human hospitals always need more beds so we hope he wasn’t let go too early.   Mollie’s Daddy has been getting lots of shakes, and he doesn’t have a lot of energy.  

He is going to see the doctor on Monday, and Mollie’s Mom is hoping to check with his heart doctor too.  Right now what Mollie needs is some prayers and no one does better prayer brigades than dogs.

So tonight let’s say some prayers for Mollie’s Dad to get back to normal so he can finish the sun room and Mollie can get her place in the sun back.  Then they can both lie down and have a good, long rest.

Foley Raised A Cain

I have never sought the spotlight. I prefer to stay off stage and comment on the events of the day. But today I reluctantly found out that a long forgotten incident has caused me to become fodder for the American tabloid machine, even though I did nothing wrong.

The incident began, as so many do, innocently enough. I was a young dog. I had been working for months creating, and perfecting, squirrel jerky. I was selling it out of the sliding glass doors of our condo when a passing kitty told me there was going to be a National Restaurant Convention coming to the Boston area later that month. The kitty said I should go to it to peddle my jerky.

I saved my kibble and bought a bus ticket to the big city. I loaded the jerky into my fanny pack, boarded the bus, and headed off to make my fortune.

I set up my Squirrel Jerky booth. While some of the humans showed a slight interest none of them saw it being a big item on their menu, and they reminded me something I, in my young and inexperienced ways, had forgotten: Dogs don’t eat in restaurants.

I was taking my display down, ready to return to the small town life with my tail between my legs because I got Tabasco on it when I heard a deep voice say “Squirrel jerky, what a wonderful idea!”

I turned around and standing there was a big man, must of been about 210, black skin, mustache, glasses, thinning hair, pleasant smile, and he said he was interested in my jerky technique. I pulled out my samples and said I could show him but he said it would be better if we did it in his hotel room. I, being naive, agreed.

I went to the room at the appointed time and scratched the door. He let me inside. I could smell a mixture of Aqua Velva and Manischewitz on ice. I removed my fanny pack to display my wears on the floor but he said he had a bad back and he needed to see them closer. He helped my up on the bed. It was there that I lay my jerky.

As I was explaining the product he began to pat my head, which I did not mind, in fact I found it plesaent. As I continued he scratched under my chin, just above my breast bone, which is my sweet spot. He asked me if I liked it and I said I did. He then told me that he was over talking to one of his pizza buddies when across the room he saw the swish of my tail and had to get to know me better.

I tried to steer the conversation back to jerky. I began to explain how I made them from the finest squirrel by product when suddenly he lifted me, flipped my over, and began to give me an unwanted, and unauthorized, belly rub. I tried to get free but the big man kept me presed down on the bed. I finally was able to nip a finger and he cried out and grabbed his hand. I jumped down from the bed and began to nip at his heels. He tried to grab me but I darted back and forth barking until the hotel manager came to to tell him there were no dogs allowed in his room. When the door was open I dashed out, down the stairs, to the bus station, and on the bus home, ashamed that I had left evidence all over my bed.

I had chalked the incident up to a lesson learned and forgot about it until today when I got a call from the Huffington Post asking me if the incident was true. I did not know why it mattered, but I told them it was. Well it turns out I wasn’t the first lollipop who had her belly rubbed without permission by this man. In fact he had several accusations made against him. And he was running for President of the United States.

Now it seems that having an illegal Yorkie in his room has derailed his campaign and he is going to drop out of the race.

I am sorry this happened Mr. Cain. I did not mean to cause you any pain. Just wish you hadn’t made me run out in the rain.

Oh, and one other thing. Can I have my jerky back?