I realize now that The Child of the home is growing to be a formidable resource and have decided to create and ally there. He has, in fact, spared me from Brody... swine... who has taken to attacking me in an attempt to overturn my reign. It won't happen, of course, but he tries.
Needless to say that The Child has grown bigger now and is generous with treats. He knows where they are and can access them freely. He does so regularly in appreciation of my devotion to my people. And of course by loving me so freely and truly, I can't help but adore and admire him. If nothing else, he is a hand to pet me.
So life is settling in a bit differently on the estate as the people pay more of the attention deserved a princess to me; and in turn, I grace them with my warmth as I lie next to them on the large, cushioned bed. It's getting to be somewhat more tolerable here... for now at least.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
It's been so long...
OH! Where to beGIN! It's been so long...
Let me start by saying that I've felt a longing to explore the countryside. A yearning, deep in my soul. I want to smell the air and the ground outside of The Fence.
And I did.
It was wonderful. Admittedly, I was somewhat afraid. Brody... swine... is what he is, but he is backup protection if nothing else. He could never get through The Fence and once I've made it outside, I'm left open to the perils of whatever is Out There.
It does feel wonderful to survey my domain... to smell every glorious inch of it and KNOW in my little heart that I have seen every inch and KNOW that there are no rats-with-bushy-tails hiding in the spots that I'm unable to see from The Yard or from inside the manor. It's nice to verify that the man who throws papers into the vestibule (wretched man) hasn't tricked me with a remote controlled mail truck--he has truly left the grounds. This investigation makes me feel more confident to return when Mother calls me. I can take comfort in knowing that there is no stone left unturned. And Mother seems pleased enough that I return when called that her tone is no longer so harsh. The more I get through The Fence and return when called, the more amicable the whole situation has become.
Of course, I DID hear her tell an intruder that she wondered when I would "go geriatric" on her. Truly! What nerve! I have such a long life left... go geriatric... puh-LEASE.
I need to go for now. I have so much more to tell. But rest for now is the priority. All in good time my beautiful admirers! Save your strength to love and adore me...
Let me start by saying that I've felt a longing to explore the countryside. A yearning, deep in my soul. I want to smell the air and the ground outside of The Fence.
And I did.
It was wonderful. Admittedly, I was somewhat afraid. Brody... swine... is what he is, but he is backup protection if nothing else. He could never get through The Fence and once I've made it outside, I'm left open to the perils of whatever is Out There.
It does feel wonderful to survey my domain... to smell every glorious inch of it and KNOW in my little heart that I have seen every inch and KNOW that there are no rats-with-bushy-tails hiding in the spots that I'm unable to see from The Yard or from inside the manor. It's nice to verify that the man who throws papers into the vestibule (wretched man) hasn't tricked me with a remote controlled mail truck--he has truly left the grounds. This investigation makes me feel more confident to return when Mother calls me. I can take comfort in knowing that there is no stone left unturned. And Mother seems pleased enough that I return when called that her tone is no longer so harsh. The more I get through The Fence and return when called, the more amicable the whole situation has become.
Of course, I DID hear her tell an intruder that she wondered when I would "go geriatric" on her. Truly! What nerve! I have such a long life left... go geriatric... puh-LEASE.
I need to go for now. I have so much more to tell. But rest for now is the priority. All in good time my beautiful admirers! Save your strength to love and adore me...
Monday, October 22, 2007
My domain
I live on a grand estate. It's not large enough for my minions, but I live in exile--so I can't expect too much. Mother and Father don't let me out onto the grounds often enough so I have to hone my supreme acting skills and pretend that I need to do my princess business so that they will let me out. If I whimper enough, they will come.
Once outside I am able to survey my grounds and keep a steadfast watch over the property. We are under constant attack. There are fierce felines and those rats-with-bushy-tails everywhere. Especially on the other side of The Fence. This is where Brody likes to take border control and really, it's just as well: he's worn the ground down to dirt and it's most disgusting on my paws. So I assign him to the border and I ensure the remaining (green) property is tended to.
Sometimes, I like to climb all the way to the top of the woodpile and look up over The Fence. Or get a better look into the maple tree (because those rats-with-bushy-tails are very good at hiding).
One day, Mother let us out into the yard and all of our chickens were in MY yard! Well, I promptly got to corralling them back into THEIR yard. Brody... swine... tried to EAT one of them! Goodness, I don't think I've ever seen Mother in such a state of panic. He got some of Henrietta's feathers, but they all lived.
I enjoy the exercise and it allows me to keep my girlish figure. And I have a much better view of oncoming attackers from outside. I'm also able to chase them off--unlike inside of the Manor--where those ridiculous windows keep me bound.
I'm not even sure that my attackers can hear my singing from behind them...
Once outside I am able to survey my grounds and keep a steadfast watch over the property. We are under constant attack. There are fierce felines and those rats-with-bushy-tails everywhere. Especially on the other side of The Fence. This is where Brody likes to take border control and really, it's just as well: he's worn the ground down to dirt and it's most disgusting on my paws. So I assign him to the border and I ensure the remaining (green) property is tended to.
Sometimes, I like to climb all the way to the top of the woodpile and look up over The Fence. Or get a better look into the maple tree (because those rats-with-bushy-tails are very good at hiding).
One day, Mother let us out into the yard and all of our chickens were in MY yard! Well, I promptly got to corralling them back into THEIR yard. Brody... swine... tried to EAT one of them! Goodness, I don't think I've ever seen Mother in such a state of panic. He got some of Henrietta's feathers, but they all lived.
I enjoy the exercise and it allows me to keep my girlish figure. And I have a much better view of oncoming attackers from outside. I'm also able to chase them off--unlike inside of the Manor--where those ridiculous windows keep me bound.
I'm not even sure that my attackers can hear my singing from behind them...
Monday, October 8, 2007
I just LOVE to sing!
I really do love to hear the sound of my own voice. It's lyrical, really. I have no formal vocal training. It must just be the superior genetics of my line. Truly amazing if I do say so myself.
Do you know how many different kinds of notes I can vocalize? It's rather impressive, really. A symphony on four legs at any given time. I choose to speak in song rather than words. I find it to be a more engaging and entertaining mode of communication.
Not everyone, of course, enjoys my complete and utter love of music. In fact, I am often rebuked by Mother and Father when I am merely trying to gently and beautifully alert them to that horrible man that throws paper into the vestibule. Wretched man. I'm not tattling and I'm not being alarmist... I'm simply trying to tell them as gently and beautifully--and non-alarmistly--as possible that he is approaching our castle. And they become completely insensed. Hmph.
Well, that is my appointment in life: to be the eyes and ears of my castle. Nobody else is going to do it!? And Brody... swine... he does nothing more than follow me around. Don't misunderstand me here: I am royal and deserve to be followed. I should BE the leader. But he's a male. He should be PROTECTING me like the precious gem that I am. Instead, *I* am the first to hear the smallest snap of a tiny twig on the property. *I* am the one constantly looking for those rats-with-bushy-tails in our trees. *I* am the one that wards off that horrible man that throws paper into the vestibule. Wretched man. *I* am the one that shrieks to the trucks that they are not allowed to be on our street. What does he do? Well, he so courteously wakes from his NAP (I should BE so honored--shouldn't I) and runs around wondering what to do... whimpering like a child. It is I that breaks into action--ever alert and protecting my manor. It is I that toes the line in this home. There is not another soul in this house that spends as much time as I do ensuring the security of our palace.
Hmph.
And here I am, trying to find the most beautiful way to alert my subjects to the evil that draws near and for what?
To be rebuked.
I live in exile.
Do you know how many different kinds of notes I can vocalize? It's rather impressive, really. A symphony on four legs at any given time. I choose to speak in song rather than words. I find it to be a more engaging and entertaining mode of communication.
Not everyone, of course, enjoys my complete and utter love of music. In fact, I am often rebuked by Mother and Father when I am merely trying to gently and beautifully alert them to that horrible man that throws paper into the vestibule. Wretched man. I'm not tattling and I'm not being alarmist... I'm simply trying to tell them as gently and beautifully--and non-alarmistly--as possible that he is approaching our castle. And they become completely insensed. Hmph.
Well, that is my appointment in life: to be the eyes and ears of my castle. Nobody else is going to do it!? And Brody... swine... he does nothing more than follow me around. Don't misunderstand me here: I am royal and deserve to be followed. I should BE the leader. But he's a male. He should be PROTECTING me like the precious gem that I am. Instead, *I* am the first to hear the smallest snap of a tiny twig on the property. *I* am the one constantly looking for those rats-with-bushy-tails in our trees. *I* am the one that wards off that horrible man that throws paper into the vestibule. Wretched man. *I* am the one that shrieks to the trucks that they are not allowed to be on our street. What does he do? Well, he so courteously wakes from his NAP (I should BE so honored--shouldn't I) and runs around wondering what to do... whimpering like a child. It is I that breaks into action--ever alert and protecting my manor. It is I that toes the line in this home. There is not another soul in this house that spends as much time as I do ensuring the security of our palace.
Hmph.
And here I am, trying to find the most beautiful way to alert my subjects to the evil that draws near and for what?
To be rebuked.
I live in exile.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Oh... where to begin...
My!! How very liberating this is! I... well, I just don't even know where to begin!!
My name is Princess Katherine Lynn Kissyface. My owners call me "Katie" or more often, "Kate" with a rather harsh tone that is completely unwarranted. I am 6 in people years, which affords me the rather substantial age of 40 in canine years according to the Pedigree.com Dog Age Calculator. According to that site, I am considered a "senior" dog. I am full-bred, of course. A Shetland Sheepdog to be precise. And no, we are not "miniature collies". I am fully bred of a fully recognized independent and well-established breed, thankyouverymuch.
I'm not well cared for at all. I honestly can't even remember the last time I saw a SA-lon. My paws are simply dreadful and my hair... well, okay--my hair is not at it's worst, but it's certainly not fitting of a princess by any stretch. It's just disgusting. But then, my female owner doesn't even care for her own grooming so I'm not even remotely surprised that she is not moved to tend to mine.
Oh yes, my owners. I have two of them. There's Mother and Father. They have a human child, Matthew. He's 3. I was here first. Hmph. And then there's Matthew's dog, Brody Quinn. He's an insufferable beast. Also a Shetland Sheepdog and while I admit that his sable merle coat is a rare and beautiful thing, that's the end of all that is beautiful about that meathound. He's dreadful on his best day. And young. He just turned 3 (28 canine). The Pedigree site would have you believe he's an "adult" dog, but he's infantile at best. All false bravado and machismo--it's very uncouthe.
So I am thrilled to have direct access to my loyal fans. It's been so long! How I know you have longed to love me--and I have longed to be adored as I should be! I am so happy to see you... Ugh--my necklace is just filthy and I certainly am not in any shape to be seen; but I will take it.
Now I must go watch for that horrible man that throws paper into the vestibule. Wretched man.
My name is Princess Katherine Lynn Kissyface. My owners call me "Katie" or more often, "Kate" with a rather harsh tone that is completely unwarranted. I am 6 in people years, which affords me the rather substantial age of 40 in canine years according to the Pedigree.com Dog Age Calculator. According to that site, I am considered a "senior" dog. I am full-bred, of course. A Shetland Sheepdog to be precise. And no, we are not "miniature collies". I am fully bred of a fully recognized independent and well-established breed, thankyouverymuch.
I'm not well cared for at all. I honestly can't even remember the last time I saw a SA-lon. My paws are simply dreadful and my hair... well, okay--my hair is not at it's worst, but it's certainly not fitting of a princess by any stretch. It's just disgusting. But then, my female owner doesn't even care for her own grooming so I'm not even remotely surprised that she is not moved to tend to mine.
Oh yes, my owners. I have two of them. There's Mother and Father. They have a human child, Matthew. He's 3. I was here first. Hmph. And then there's Matthew's dog, Brody Quinn. He's an insufferable beast. Also a Shetland Sheepdog and while I admit that his sable merle coat is a rare and beautiful thing, that's the end of all that is beautiful about that meathound. He's dreadful on his best day. And young. He just turned 3 (28 canine). The Pedigree site would have you believe he's an "adult" dog, but he's infantile at best. All false bravado and machismo--it's very uncouthe.
So I am thrilled to have direct access to my loyal fans. It's been so long! How I know you have longed to love me--and I have longed to be adored as I should be! I am so happy to see you... Ugh--my necklace is just filthy and I certainly am not in any shape to be seen; but I will take it.
Now I must go watch for that horrible man that throws paper into the vestibule. Wretched man.
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