Office Girl

Hanging out in the office...

I gotta tell you: I really, really don't understand why humans go to the office everyday. I mean, just last week, daddy had to go away for business. And because they did not want to leave me in my Alcatraz-like prison-crate all day (thank you!) and because they did not trust me in the house by myself (was it the I-pod cable I ate?), mommy took me to work with her. I had been there before and I am telling you: There is nothing, nothing more boring than an office. People are sitting at a desk, talk into a machine or hit a piece of plastic all day and there is seriously no fun involved.
So I did what I do best: I shredded some paper that was laying around - mommy works in a stationery company), tried to eat some of the furniture, pretended that I needed to pee every 10 minutes until mommy yelled at me for lying and I successfully grabbed a candy out of the chief-human's bag (I was caught and they took the candy away from me).
Once, mommy let me out in the backyard, I discovered some kittens, but they didn't want to play with me either and ran away, whenever I started running towards them. Bummer.
So then I went on doing what I heard most people do in the office: I took a nap. And another nap, and another.... 

... not getting anything done!

I think I am not really an office girl. I like going to work with daddy in the truck much better. I look pretty awesome in a truck and the people at Home Depot and Nassau Suffolk Lumber always have treats for me.
Will work on my career in construction now. Do they make hard hats for dogs?

Me - sexy!

Just wondering - do you think I would make the center-fold if they ever came up with "Playdog"-Magazine...?!

Happy 4th of July!

Though my ancestors are from England and my mom is from Germany - I am still daddy's girl and therefore an all American Beagle. 

By the way, so nice of all the neighbors to put flags in their front yards - made me feel like I had my own parade this morning.

Off to my first Independence Day BBQ now- hope that people drop lots of food on the ground for me!

Happy 4th to all of you!

It's getting hot in here....

...so I took off all my clothes - hmmm, my leash. But it was still sooo hot here in New York today, that daddy thought it could be a good idea to take me for a swim. I am mean, is he serious?!

I am a hunter, not a swimmer. I am not Michael Phelps or Mark Spitz, in fact, I hate water. I don't leave the house when it rains, I only take a bath when I stink like a pig and mommy drags me in the shower, I walk a big circle around puddles on the street.

Me swimming with daddy.

So when daddy lured me close to that puddle of water in his buddy's yard - I tried my best to get away from it. I hid in the bushes, pretended to be sniffing something interesting on the lawn. But eventually he got me and dipped me in - paws, belly, tale and all - under protest as I would like to point out. And I literally swam for my life! OK, I admit, he held me more than I was swimming and swimming might be the wrong word, paddling might be better....I mean, I don't have web feet, so what was he thinking!?

But you have to admit that I look quite elegant in the water - like a young Esther Williams I'd like to think

But why is it, that I had to get all wet and daddy only dangled his feet in the water? I will have to do more research on that.

Until then, stay cool!

Boot Camp

On my way to Boot Camp

You have probably been wondering what I have been up to these last couple of weeks. Well, it seems that my behavior around the house gave reason to put me in a Puppy Boot Camp for eight weeks. Mom and dad called it "Puppy Kindergarten", but there was actually no fun for me involved!

Once a week (during my normal dinner time!), they put me in the car (on a freakn' harness!) and drove me to Camp. It said "Happy Dog Training and Behavior" on the sign, but trust me, there was nothing happy in it for me. I was on a leash the whole time, was not allowed contact with the other inmates (mostly younger criminals, I was the oldest of the bunch) and the Camp supervisor, Ellen - who was actually really nice. but kind of strict! -, gave all the moms and dads instructions on how to torture us puppies with exercises as stupid as sit, down, come, no-pull-walking - I mean, I know how to do all of this, I just don't want to! Who wants to walk nicely on a leash if there is bird poop to sniff, grass to eat, cats and squirrels to chase and school buses to bark at. Serious!. I just wanted to play with the others. But no, we had to even practice this stuff at home for hours and hours. 

Me and mom at release from Boot Camp - or what they call "graduation

At least provision was good: They gave us steak, cheese, pork chops and even peanut butter filled bones!. Most of the time in Camp I didn't really pay attention to what the Ellen said, I just tried to figure out how to get to the food without the stupid sit, down, come thing.

Maybe that's why I was voted "Student of the week" only once - I must have done a great job with my "down" or something. That day, it was just so freakn' hot outside, it was better to lay down than to run after the other inmates.

Anyway, long story short. They released me from Camp - the humans called it graduation - I got a big milk bone and now I can go back to writing you more often.

Wait, what was that? I just heard I am going back for "Family Dog 1"?! What else can they teach me? Am I not perfect already?

What the *%^$#@*......!?

EXCUSE ME!!! I think there was a HUGE misunderstanding here. I said I WANTED an Ester bunny - I did not say that I wanted to BE the Easter bunny.
Anyway....Happy Easter everybunny!

What!? - Do they think dogs are stupid?

Do I look like a stupid dog?!

Hi everybody,

Somebody sent this following article to my mom and dad this morning and they read it out loud so I got to hear what some of you humans seem to think of us dogs. Made me kind of sad. My favorite things are bully sticks, marrow bones and peanuts - not milk bones and tail wagging. But what do you know - silly humans who can't go outside unless you wear shoes and clothes!

But read for yourselves:

The Dog's Diary 8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!   9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!   9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing! 10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing! 12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!   1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!   3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!   5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!   7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!   8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing! 11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

The Cat's Diary  Day 983 of My Captivity My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards! There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage. Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs. I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now ... So, can you believe it? Looks like I have to polish my image and be a bit more  critical about my environment. Maybe I could join PETA or the ASPCA to make  a statement that dogs do have an opinion?