Hey. I just wanted to write a few quick words about my owner. Well, one of them. Her. He's a whole other story (I say that with all due respect).
You know, this world seems to be made for the loud, the aggressive, the show offs. That isn't her. My owner doesn't have a bad intention in her bones. When I was first brought home, some 10 years ago, I was just a mere ball of fur. I was placed on top of her while she slept, as a little surprise. We've been together ever since, through all kinds of ups and downs. And there have been ups and downs. But through it all, she's remained exactly what she is today: a classy, funny, adorable little lady. Not everyone gets to see her silly side, her outgoing side, her crazy side. I do. And boy, do I think the rest of the world is missing out. But that's ok. I feel lucky to have a front row seat. I trust her more than anyone in the world...even when she's being clumsy in the kitchen and putting her clothes on backwards.
So today I encourage you to give a little extra love to your masters. If you're lucky, they are everything that she is to me.
I know you've all been waiting to hear my picks for the Oscar awards. Admittedly, I am fairly adept at picking winners in any number of categories. I once even predicted all of the technical award recipients, including "Shyest Key Grip".
You should know that I haven't seen all the movies this year, only a handful of the twenty some-odd Best Picture nominees. And I didn't get to see them in the theater, of course, only on screener DVDs. I believe that we're at least 5 years away from pets being allowed in our nation's cinemas, a horrific advancement for all involved.
The thing that stands out for me when I look at this year's nominees, is how incredibly dramatic humans can be. To the point of adding nauseum everywhere. They fight, they cry, they get wrapped up in nostalgia and past transgressions. Why can't they just be like me and have absolutely no long-term memory? It makes living in the moment inevitable. My favorite movie this year was Boyhood, not only for its incredible 12 year filming schedule, but also for making me glad I never had to go through puberty, a ridiculous combination of hair and loneliness.
I enjoyed "Birdman," but was disappointed that there was only one of them and he was an actor. Give me a fleet of birdmen putting on a play that they self-produced and then we can talk. I could go on and on. The important thing here is that everyone gets an award tonight and we can all go back to our lives. The Oscars are a celebration of movies, and what better way to celebrate than by telling some that they are better than others. Have fun watching.
I love you all.
I just wanted to say a few things about the Westminster Dog Show, if I may. You probably don't know this, but I root pretty hard for the competitive aspect of the event. Like the way you might cheer for the Super Bowl, or for someone to lose weight on that show. Actually, it's more like the way you go nuts for your country in the Olympics. Its very personal. We get behind our own breed. Hard.
When I watch, I get nervous, disparage the breeders, ridicule the judges, make wild accusations, empty threats. I pace around the room in a nerve-induced haze, which makes you think I have to go out, and I do. Look, its not just some random bunch of beasts out there; they represent us all.
I, myself, do not have what it takes to compete on the professional circuit. Even when perfectly groomed, I can't hide my disgusting impulses and inappropriate behavior. I'm not perfect. You want perfect? Go stare at a diamond. Or Matthew McConaughey's baby. I don't know. Believe me, I wish I could sit still while some guy in a sports jacket did a cavity search and chased me around the room. I'm afraid I would only incite bedlam.
This year a beagle named Miss P took the top prize, and good for her. My sister in-law is a beagle named Lucy. I imagine she was quite proud when she heard the news and then went on to something else very quickly. I, however, was inconsolable. A bichon frisée has not won the coveted Best in Show since 2001. JR (a.k.a., Champion Special Times Just Right!) was before my time, but I've heard stories, watched the replay repeatedly. I used to have JR's picture near my basket of stuff, but I believe I destroyed or possibly ate it by mistake. Regardless, I want to see the bichon to return to our rightful place in the canine community, which is on the top part. Until then I will go on sleeping on the floor for many hours in protest.
There are these fish skin treats that my friend and I are into. When I say into, I mean that we're like drug addicts about them. We howl, we scratch at doors, basically make fools of ourselves in the name of ingesting what used to be the protective covering of an underwater creature. And I know I told you that I won't be going on about food in this blog, but I feel like this point is essential in understanding who I am. See, when I receive my fish skin for the day, usually after my initial morning walk, I take it without a pause for appreciation that it was given to me. I then proceed to get it down my throat as quickly as I possibly can, in a somewhat dangerous fashion. The smell, by the way, everyone could do without. My point is, even I cannot comprehend the idea of ingesting this item which I hold so dear, really without taking even a moment to enjoy the taste or mouth-feel of the thing. Where is the joy in this? And yet, I can't help myself. The object, I suppose is to just get it done and move on, in the satisfaction that I have gotten what I desire. I feel somewhat superficial in this way, possibly shallow.
I imagine that humans are like this in their own way. Constantly glomming what they desire without hesitation or gratitude. I sometimes walk past the various celebrations in our lobby and see people eating and drinking as quickly as they can, probably trying to avoid the awkward neighborly conversations that permeate such an event. "Isn't it cold outside?" "Have you seen that show about those people doing that thing?" "Does your oven work?" Jeez. I'd try to get out of there too. I'm so glad I don't have vocal chords. Seriously, this is what people talk about. Don't get me wrong, I'm not putting down humans, but a lot of this is empty air. At least with dogs, we mostly just sniff each others buttocks and move on. Maybe we go back for a second sniff, just to be sure. But for the most part, it's quick and simple. I really can't think of one thing that I take the time to enjoy. Ok, a chew, maybe. Sleep. Well, yea, sleep. But then again, I'm asleep. That doesn't count. It's almost like I'm not there. Oh, I know. A well orchestrated belly rub. Fantastic. I could keep lying there for a long time with that. And it's always enjoyable, almost too much so. Sometimes I sit around recalling a belly rub I received weeks ago, if it was done well. I remember where I was, the situation, who was giving the massage. That's the kind of thing that you just can't rush.
Lick, wag, sniff.
Look, I'm not going to sugar coat this...I love living in New York City. As a dog, where else can you go and suddenly there's a mound of rice on the ground? See, I'm originally from the suburbs of New Jersey, where the most you'll find is a wrapper that someone recently wiped their mouth on. My name is Willie and I'm a bichon, which means I'm hypoallergenic and look like I'm always wearing a fleece jumpsuit. I keep pretty quiet, unless I want something, like the usual stuff, which I won't bore you with. I mean, look, I could sit here and tell you about always wanting food and going to bathroom, or we could get down to brass tacks.
The truth is, I have a great life. I'm very lucky. I have two wonderful owners who adore me. They're kinda nutty, in a harmless way. She's extremely clumsy and often puts her clothes on backwards. And he's halfway nuts. Always making voices and dancing like a lunatic. Sometimes I'm surprised they find their way home when they take me for a walk around the block. But, look, they're great and I can't complain.
I also have a best friend, a Flat-Coated Retriever named Bones, and he's just the best. Seriously, if we ever got in an altercation with some pugs or a wolf, he's the one that I'd want on my side, hands down. Not that he's a fighter, mind you, just an imposing presence, which counts for something in this world. He belongs to these great folks who live upstairs. They give me treats and hang out with us and take us on walks to Riverside Park. They cook a lot, but thankfully they aren't as clumsy as my owners, who, I can't stress enough, are like Ringling Brothers clowns.
So in this blog I'll be telling you about my goings on, my fantasies, and even have guest writers from time to time. I can't vouch for the quality of their communication skills, but it will at least be interesting to get another perspective on things.
In case you don't know it, it's cold in New York right now. Not necessarily for me, but my owners seem extremely distressed when we go out and seem to want me to expel on command, which we both know is impossible.
I should mention that we live in a one-room studio, which is almost like I'm renting out this giant dog-house to my owners. But from what I've overheard in our lobby "this is what life in Manhattan is like these days, what with the rent and the economy being the way they are." I love hanging out in the lobby of our building. Watching people, hearing what they say. One time this woman looked out the window across Amsterdam Avenue and said "I didn't care for the Matzo-ball soup over there." She was talking about a pizza parlor. I love this woman, although I don't think she knows what to make of me. I should say that I like pretty girls. I always let them pet me and say sweet things. They're voices always seem to go very high. In fact, I've noticed, the prettier they are, the higher their voices go. Weird. I show my appreciation with wild tail wags and this sort of head down, ears down thing I do. Adorable.
Well, I have to go for my mid-day walk. I have a fairly good memory for what food is lying around out there at the moment. A pile of Cheerios on 89th street, a chicken bone on 90th and Broadway. I'll try to get to them before my owner sees them. I ate a Tootsie Roll wrapper last night, which I realize is not food, but is a Tootsie roll?
Till next time. xo