Up to now, I had thought Mike was doing a pretty good job for me. I mean, nobody has stopped me in Petco asking for an autograph, but strangers still stop us and tell Mike and me how cute I am. And certainly through my blog, Mike has established me on a higher recognition plane than any other wirehair dachshund my age, at least the ones I know about. I’ve had videos on the Visi-Ball site, for crying out loud. Think Frank and Stanley have built that much of a literary platform?
Kiki, before her TV debut
But I’ve got to reconsider my assessment of Mike’s worth in career-building after finding out that Kiki–that tiny Havanese my friend Lynn takes me to play with, has made her network TV debut. The nerve of her! (Kiki, not Lynn; I can’t imagine for an instant that Lynn had anything directly to do with my snub or Kiki’s good fortune.)
I refuse to hold it against Kiki, though. After all, she’s not nearly as cute as I am; she’s just got a better agent.
Kiki and Chloë square off.
I’m blaming Mike. And unless he can get himself back on my good side, he’s toast. And if in the end I decide to let him stay on as my chauffeur, autobiographer and personal assistant, he’s gonna owe me, big time.
Come to think of it, there’s no way I’m letting Kiki get away with this, either. The next time I see her, I’m going to have to remind her who’s the boss.
We drove over to Kiki’s house in Lynn’s car, and when we got there Kiki was having a bad hair day. The poor thing had just gotten clipped, and it was pretty short for a Havanese. I suspect Kiki’s owners must have decided to cut bait on her hair mats and just start over. But I hope Kiki picked up a few “calm assertive” pointers from me that she can apply when I’m not around and bigger dogs tease her about that lousy coif.
The two of us played around for a while. Whenever Kiki thought she might be able to get the upper hand for a few seconds, I just stood her up straight or pounced upon her, just the way my brothers knock me around. Being on the other end was awesome, baby.
We were having fun until Kiki pooped in the house and wanted me to cover for her. And how exactly?By looking guilty? That’s not my style. So I blew her in to Lynn. Since she didn’t catch Kiki in the act, Lynn let the waif off easy, in my opinion. Honestly, there’s no excuse for that kind of behavior at our age. Whenever I gotta go, I mean REALLY gotta go, I just let out a few little whimpers, and people are stumbling over each other to get me out of the house. It ain’t rocket science.
I fervently hope Kiki gets my message on this one, or she’s going to be in for a lot of aggravation in the long run.