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...

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.

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.