Hey blogaroos! It’s me. Squirmy. Squirmy the famous. I decided to stop and write this blog, and take a break from all the calls I have been getting to be a model.
Why you ask? We’ll check THIS out! I was in our local newspaper the other day:
How cool is THAT? I’m a weather dog. The Boss said it’s incorrect. He said my photo should be associated with a tornado or hurricane. He thinks he’s funny.
One problem with the photo – I don’t know who the heck Lisa is. Must be My Enforcer’s alias.
From now on, I am insisting that I get paid for every photo I take. OK. So yes, I already do. I mean if I sit and pose I DO get a treat. But given my newfound fame, I want TWO treats. The pay scale has just gone up.
Yesterday I had a private lesson with my coach, Jane. Well, private with me and My Enforcer. I didn’t go all by myself. My Enforcer had to drive. I think I had a private session because I’m special. The Boss said it was because I needed a remedial class.
I was PRETTY well behaved. I only tried to bite Jane and My Enforcer when I got bored. They talk about me a LOT and while they do, I’m supposed to lie like a rug and pretend I don’t hear them. They talk about my training quirks. OK. So sometimes I’m a bit “freestyle” when we’re working. But Jane said it’s because I’m young. My Enforcer sometimes forgets I still have a pin sized brain, because sometimes I can act like a BIG dog. But underneath it all, I’m still a baby. Anyway, Jane did a FABULOUS job of training My Enforcer. My Enforcer needs MUCH more training than I do! She’s a slow learner. But I never said that….
I’m still back in my crate at night. After that night when I tried a combo of yoga and aerobics on the bed, I haven’t been invited up again. My Enforcer mumbled something about needing her sleep. What for? I mean she’s retired. She can nap in the afternoon! If we let her.
We got a package in the mail the other day, and I was all excited, thinking it was some special gift. Guess what it was? You might as well give up. It was an utter disappointment. To me anyway. It was…get ready… a box of… barrettes. Really. I’m not joking. They weren’t for My Enforcer. Her hair is too short. So they were for me and the Boss. And get this – they came from England. Yes. England. I guess British barrettes are better than North American barrettes. Cheerio. They all taste the same to me. We actually can’t wear barrettes all the time. Possibly because we rip them out of each other’s hair and then proceed to chew them. Anyway, the company that makes the “best barrettes” is apparently going out of business. So My Enforcer ordered some for us. If she would just let us cut each other’s hair, which we thoroughly enjoy doing, we would have no need for barrettes. Just a thought.
Anyway, we got a variety of new barrettes. I’ll have to model them for you. But only if I’m paid well for the job….
Have a good one. Peace and paws up. Stay safe.