A Holiday Of Some Kind Just Passed

It involved the really short humans I sometimes see in the elevator with their Mamas and Papas.  Except they didn't quite look like themselves.  It definitely smelled like them though . . . soap, dirt, and crayons. 

They kept knocking on the door when I was working on my siesta.  They seemed to want something from me but I'm not quite sure what.  It got a bit tiresome after a while, so I texted my Mama while she was working:

Don't worry, I ran off the weird, short people.  They won't be back again. You're welcome.

 For some reason, Mama did not appreciate my efforts.

The Day I Almost Wasn't

Or the day I had near-death experience #451.

My Papa (ahem, my Mama was in Miami visiting my cousins but that is a woeful story for another day) took me out for my walk post-breakfast so I could take care of "business."  And it was stinky business, let me tell you.  Anyways, everything went routine in that department, and my Papa scooped it and walked me back to the elevators.

And this is where it all went downhill.  Almost literally.

We get in the elevator, Papa pushes the button, we start to rise and then . . . a sudden jerk!

We come to a complete stand-still between floor 11 and 12.  With my puppy heart beating wildly, I look at my Papa but he looks unruffled.  He takes out an electronic gadget, hits some buttons and puts it next to his ear.  Little did he know that with my superior canine senses, I knew we were in real danger.

Together we sit on the floor and he rubs my belly, which was nice but then I hear noises.  People were trying to break into the elevator! 

We're going to fall!!!  MAYDAY MAYDAY!

Meanwhile, Papa is petting me, saying, "It's going to be okay, little Merlot."

And then!  AND THEN!  We started moving again!  UPWARDS!

And we survived.

But it was very close there for a couple of minutes. 

I know you are relieved that Merlot lived to tell the tale.  You don't know how happy I am too.

I Hate Rain

My fur and paws get wet, and I am not a happy puppy. I'm pretty cute but the wet look? Not a good look for me.

Mama got me a raincoat but I told her I only wear fur coats and she called me a diva.

Then I said, "Like Mother, like daughter! . . . Should we take a cab?"

And she said yes. Diva, my butt.

The Good Thing About Being a Puppy?

Is I don't have to apologize for being a busy doggie!  Just one more reason why canines > humans.

So in the most recent  news, I have been kicked off the humans' bed at night and apparently all other times as well.  As in, I have to sleep on the floor like a dog!  Oh, the inhumanity of it all.  Why did this happen?  There was a slight problem with an upset stomach and a bedspread and all of a sudden, Bam!  I'm like Merlot the Leper around these parts.  Even cute face #417 didn't work on the man.  And all my cute faces always work on the man.

Don't worry.  I'm plotting.  This situation will soon be rectified.  Roughing it for a long period of time is not in the cards for me, I assure you.

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

The male human places my bowl in front of me with the dry cereal this morning.  I look at him, "Did you forget something?  There's no chicken!  Or even carrots!  How am I supposed to eat this?"

Is this an April Fool's trick?

Because it's not funny.

Boarding

In spite of my advanced intelligence, I am a dog and sometimes nuanced human behavior escapes me.  When I'm dropped off for doggy daycare, I always assume it's for the day and one of the humans will come back when it's dark to pick me up so I can pass out on the couch like I've had way too many glasses of wine.  Sometimes it gets dark and my humans don't come, so then I assume it was Papa's turn to pick me up.  It might be very dark outside, but he always comes.  When I wasn't picked up before it was time to sleep, I knew I was here for the long haul.

Puppy Sleepover!  Being surrounded by jet-setting Manhattanites, I can always count on at least 2 other puppies being boarded for the weekend.  Shenanigans galore!  Wait, did you think I was going to tell you what happened at doggy daycare???  You know what they say, "What happens at doggy daycare stays at doggy daycare!"

Just kidding!  Stories coming soon . . .

I'm not bitter that I get left behind nearly ALL the time.  Why, do I sound bitter?  I'm too young to be bitter.  I just get revenge.  "Oh, I'm sorry Mama, were you a fan of those shiny black leather heels that now have my teethmarks?"  :: Cue evil puppy laugh ::

It's A Dog Eat Dog World

So I mentioned I go to doggy daycare, but it's really more of a magnet school for Manhattan's elite canine population. We just call it doggy daycare because otherwise we sound snobbish, like humans who went to Harvard. Where did you go to school? I went to college in Boston.

For example, right now we're studying for the PSAT's - the Puppy SAT's. Some might argue that they're starting us early, but that's the dedication to education they have at doggy daycare. Me personally? I'm already scoring better than the two year olds. I tutor a Dalmation in my spare time (let's just say I'm glad my breed is a cousin to the Border Collie).

If you think the academics are tough, the social scene makes studying for Advanced Studies In Meat Types* a walk in the park. . . which I also enjoy, of course. Doggy Daycare is the canine equivalent of Gossip Girl, just a touch more feral.

*I've learned that Merlot pairs well with steak but alas, my humans have yet to let me partake of their wine collection.

Uh Oh . . .

The suitcase is on the floor.  And she's making a mess of clothes on the bed.  Oooo, that strappy thing looks like it would be fun to chew.  Oh darn, she just saw me inching towards it and took it away from the bed.  She's a smart one, I have to say.  

This must mean Mama is traveling.  Papa has been missing for a couple days; I wonder if she's going to where he is.  Last time the suitcases were out, I heard them talking, and you know where they went?

NAPA. 

I will let the significance of that place in relation to my name sink in for a couple seconds.  To say I was miffed is putting it lightly.  Mama said something about a long flight and it being stressful but all I heard was blah, blah, blah.  Merlot wants vino!  I AM vino, for goodness sake.

However, there is a silver lining to my humans going on vacation.  I get to go to doggy daycare for 4 days straight.  You know the phrase, "When the cat's away, the mice come out to play"?  Hehehehe. Time to Party Party!  Doggies know how to get down.

As an aside, whoever coined that phrase obviously preferred cats over dogs.  Dogs, Merlot included, are not a fan of this person.

Mama Stays Home

My days generally follow a very standard routine.  2-3 days a week I hang out in the apartment by myself, doing what puppies do: admiring my fur, trying to scavenge the cupboard for stray doggy treats (I never find any; the humans hide them well) and maybe surfing the web while I check email.*  The rest of the week I go to doggy daycare, and let me tell you, the shiz that goes down there?  That's a whole other blog.  On the weekends the humans and I veg out on the couch and they take me to the doggy park.

Anyways, today is NOT the weekend.  In spite of being a canine, I'm pretty advanced for my age (almost 10 months).  Today is not the weekend and yet, Mama is vegging on the couch.  This has never happened before in my very brief lifetime.  I was befuddled.

This morning when she took me out for my post-breakfast walk, she kept muttering, "Of all the days for you to take a while to potty.  Just poop already!  I feel like I'm going to fall over."

Ahem, some things can't be rushed.

I conclude that Mama is just taking a day off.

*I may be reached at ManhattanMerlot@gmail.com

Welcome!

Welcome to my little space on the World Wide Web.  I wanted a place to pontificate and just generally fill you in on what it's like to be a canine in one of the greatest cities in the world.  Yes, I'm a dog, get over it.  Some would argue I'm a puppy and that I couldn't possibly have seen enough of the world to offer any intelligent opinions, but I'm a master of my hood.  Well, all four blocks of it anyways.

Why am I called Merlot?  You'd have to ask my wine-swilling Mama, and no, she doesn't share.  I live with my Mama and Papa in a high rise (it must be high because I can see the sky from the windows and we have to use an elevator when I gotta potty).

Where did I come from?  Some far away place called Iowa.  I like to think of myself as a jet-setter since I've been on airplanes.  I don't remember this place called Iowa but I'm sure it was fabulous.

That's it for now.  It's time for my walk.  Be back soon!