March 28th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Oh my stars, Diary. You know how I hate to be catty. I find that very unbecoming a proper Wienerdog as myself. BUT, that little trollop of Bogart, has sunk to levels I never thought a Wiener could sink. And coming from animals with less than one inch ground clearance, this is REALLY saying something. Trollop's name is Dolly. Ridiculous. Dolly wrote me a letter via Mother Person's Bookface page. Facebook? Whatever. On the internet super high way her words come careening towards my already broken heart. Here is the attached photo and her text:

Dear Beans-- whose soft terry cloth "Oprah's favorite thing" robe am I sitting, you may stop licking your lack of balls to ask yourself? That's right. Sam's. And what's that in the background? No, it's not a 4x3 ft linai you can barely fit a pee pad on. It's a yard. And who pray tell is sniffing my gorgeous arese? The BUBS and he loves it-- jealous?? In respond to your delightful literature in which you so sadly pretend you are some sort of Ariana Woofington, may I just say this: no one cares what you have to say. Despite your clever phrasing and alliteration. Save it for your memoir. Which I'm sure will be titled: Diary of a Mad Black Weenie. To that-- I give you this coy side glance. Interpret how you will. And stay away from my man. Signed, Dolly


SACRED BLEU! It's worse than I thought. She must be holding our Bogart, aka "The Bubs" hostage. It's like the Hunger Games *SPOILER ALERT UNLESS YOU HAVE READ PAST PAGE 148 IN BOOK 3* when Peeta goes all goofy. Bogart, my simple little mutt, you just don't know what's happened to you. Forcing you into early marriage. Silly clothes. No devil pigs. I can't help but think of this Dolly as our Yoko. Oh misery. Terrible misery. Like a sock just out of reach... Or a chicken bone on the street that I'm forbidden to eat. (Why do people eat bone in chicken on the street, btw?!?) It's all unfair. And those words... oh how they cut me... But come on, of COURSE people want to know what I have to say. That's just ridiculous to think otherwise. Clearly, she is delusional. With a very long snout.

I do admit, I miss her Man Person, Sam, and his exceptionally soft robe. That Oprah knows a thing or two about comfort... and I don't think a chicken bone has ever been out of HER reach, know what i'm saying? That's right, a fat joke. That Dolly has shaken me to the core and I'm reduced to making FAT JOKES. About OPRAH. Where is my fainting couch?? I must rest. I need a lime seltzer and a nap. Maybe then, this will all stop.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

March 27th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Um, no. Whoever coined this trite phrase never met a wienerdog. Especially THIS wienerdog. My heart is broken in a million little pieces. I haven't gone to pilates in a week, and I can't bare to even look at my French homework. WHY you ask? Look at this filth.

See that fetching character on the right in the bow tie? THAT is my former best friend forever, or BFF as the kids say. Bogart. Look at his luscious ears!! There may not be much between said floppy ears, but that Bogle (part dog, part Beagle) was my dear friend. We would vacation together while my people were out of town (ie they deserted me with nice people who loved me, but "deserted" I certainly was, none the less.) I would sleep in Bogart's bed, he'd get the floor.  I'd play with his squeaky devil pig, he'd watch. He'd find me socks to munch on, I'd let him.  It was a good relationship. He moved to Louisiana a little while ago and apparently, fell in with a bad crowd. And replaced me. With that. Another wienerdog. Injustice.

Not only is this wiener not of my superior coloring. She's a GIRL. ICKY! BLEH!!! And she makes him wear funny clothing!!!!! What is this, role playing?!?! It's not right, I tell you. Not right at all!!! He should only be taking orders from ME!!! That is how this friendship worked out so perfectly!!!! MISERY!!! I would never make him wear a bow tie. That's not edible at all. What a waste! And it doesn't even keep your little hound body warm. This is only worn to delight the humans. Terrible. What's next, Bogart? Fetching their balls and herding their sheep? You'll be a slave to them!!! It's bad enough we have to work CONSTANTLY to ward off the hallway monsters and the vacuum cleaner gnomes. You've turned into a puppet... And I blame that lady friend! She's not properly advising you on how to be a hound. She may not really be a real wienerdog at all. Maybe some Swedish knock off or something. I don't see "stern German" coming from her...  I shudder to think about it.

Now who's my best friend? The whiney Beagle across the hall? The Chihuahua that barks at shadows?! The hapless labrador? Who can I boss around?!?! WHO WHO WHO?! Misery.

I will lie on the couch, taking up more room than one thought possible, while my heart aches like no other heart has ached before. A lamb chop would really hit the spot about now.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog

March 9th, 2012

Dear Diary, 

Diary. Look at this. 

Is this wiener dog prettier than me?!?!??! Wait. Don't tell me. I don't want to know... From this angle you can't see his/her bum swirls... I have divine bum swirls. If my front paws weren't so short, I could take a photo for you, but alas. That's right, laugh it up, Diary!! I can't find my ass with both paws. Injustice. Sigh. Those spots are terribly pretty. I could have been in that Cartier commercial. Why didn't they think of me?! Misery.

I haven't diary-ed in a while... just, so sad. I went on a sock binge. The mini person moved his sock drawer, and the dumb human people have all his stuff in bins that slide out, with no lids. What do they think I am, a retriever?! A trainable and affable dog that isn't ruled by a small evil German brain?! Have they even met me? So, yes, of course, I got into said sock drawer and munched through them like Mother Person when see gets a whiff of tater tots. (Which she DOES NOT share. Who has the evil brain now, hmmmm?) But, yes, I threw up 6 socks one day, and 2 the next. The 2 even surprised me! There we were having our Daily Show cuddle and I felt a gurgle. Next thing you know, there are 2 dead socks on the couch. Mother Person was visibly disturbed. Soft Touch even gave a little yelp. Who knew I had 2 more in me?! Where do I store them!? It's a mystery. I am a marvel, that's all I can say.

I have stopped counting the amount of treats and cuddles I recieve. My therapist said I should concentrate on the positive. I think that was her way of saying, "These jerky treats are mine and I'm not sharing." That session definitely wasn't worth the co-pay. Misery continues.

Sincerely,
Beans A. Wienerdog