Are you looking at my bone?

Fuhgetaboutit! Really. Forget. About. It.

-Comfort

What're You Trying to Say?

Are you trying to tell me I'm adopted?

-Comfort

How Very Rude!

No, we are NOT related. And frankly, I resent the question.

-Duchess

Falsely Accused

This is what Mom's bed looks like when she leaves it in the mornings:

This is what Mom's bed looks like when she comes back in the evenings:

And then she says to me, "You've been sleeping in my bed, haven't you?"

And I am like, "Look, lady, I'm not even in your room! See how I'm waiting just outside, like THE BEST DOG IN THE WORLD?"

"And also? The way I refuse to look you in the eyes right now is a sure sign of my innocence."

But still, Mom blames me for this. ME! STILL! Have you ever heard such wild accusations in all your life? I know! I mean, it's obvious that we have a smallish ghost problem. Yes, obviously Mom's bed is haunted. By a smallish ghost. With short black hair. Obviously. DUH.

I am soooooooo mistreated around here! Hmph!

-Comfort

Who's scared of a little rain?

Who's scared of a little thunderstorm? Not me! I just happen to be under Mom's desk in order to um...better guard her shoes - you know how us girls love our shoes!



Of course I'm not scared! How many times do I have to tell you? I am only in Mom's closet to um...better guard her belts and scarves. Actually, I think all accessories should be closely guarded, don't you?


Especially during thunderstorms. Yeah, thunderstorms are known to really wreak havoc on one's accessories. Don't say I didn't warn you.


-The Duchess

Mama's Girls

Comfort: You know how you keep trying to explain to Mom that you’re a dog and not a person?

Duchess: Yes.

Comfort: Well, it's not working.

Duchess: What makes you say that?

Comfort: Mom just put a shirt on me. A SHIRT! And if that's not bad enough, the shirt has MY NAME on it! MY NAME! LOOK!
Duchess: Oh yes, that is bad.

Comfort: Hey, maybe I can rub the shirt off...on the drapes?

Duchess: I think not.

Comfort: This isn’t fair! Where’s your shirt?

Duchess: You must be joking. I would never wear a shirt. I am a dog with dignity. I would sooner tear our mother’s hands off with my teeth than wear a shirt like that – especially with my name on it – nothing says “mama’s girl” like a shirt with your name sewn onto it! How embarrassing!

Two hours later...

Comfort: At least my shirt isn't pink - you look like a hippopotamus.

Duchess: What did you just say?

Comfort: Nothing.

Duchess: That's what I thought.

Comfort: Sigh.

Duchess: Sigh.

I'm a dog. A DOG!

Okay, let me try to explain this to you again, Mom: See, I'm a dog. Therefore, I look, act, and smell LIKE A DOG. So, I don't understand why it is that whenever I even start smelling like a dog - which I am - you put me in the bathtub and keep me there until I smell like a flower. I am not a flower. I do not wish to be a flower. I do not wish to smell like a flower.

Frankly, Mom, it's embarrassing to smell like a flower when you're a dog. Dogs recognize each other and decide whether or not they like each other based on smell. Since I smell like a flower, my would-be friends don't know whether to play with me or pee on me. It's really embarrassing.

YOU are embarrassing me, Mom. Please stop. Please. Couldn't you just let me be a dog who smells like a dog?

I didn't think so.

Ugh. I can't even look at you right now.

-Duchess

Don't stick your feet in your ears.

Listen up, dogs of the world! I’m being poisoned! I think. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.


It all started with a trip to the vet, because I kept sticking my feet in my ears. (Helpful hint: Do NOT stick your feet in your ears. This will almost certainly lead straight to the vet’s office. And by the way, I’m pretty sure that “vet” means “person who torments animals” because my visits with the vet are NEVER pleasant.) Anyway, the vet gave my mom some poison – at least it tastes like poison. Helpful Hint: Here’s what poison looks like:

Don't eat this!!!!

And my mom keeps putting this poison in my food, and have I mentioned that it tastes like…poison?

You know this isn't right, Mom.

I asked my sister, Duchess, if her dinner tasted like it had been poisoned.

My sister said, “I can’t hear you because there’s food present.”


I took that as a no. I knew my sister was mom’s favorite all along! I knew it! I knew it! My sister isn’t even being poisoned! At all! And also, she gets bigger bones. I think. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.


Well, I just wanted to say so long, friends. It’s only a matter of time now, since the poison is in every meal I eat. I’ll either starve to death, or be poisoned to death, but the end result is the same, isn’t it? So, what have we learned here today? DON’T STICK YOUR FEET IN YOUR EARS!


UPDATE: I ate poison for two weeks straight, but I’m still alive…because I’m tough like that. So my mom gave up on poisoning me. BOO-YAH! And also, my ears feel better. Hunh.

-Comfort