Thank You, Thank You, Thank You! I’m Blowing Kisses of Gratitude to All My Fans! Come Bask in My Aura!

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You! I’m Blowing Kisses of Gratitude to All My Fans! Come Bask in My Aura!

Mes Amis, I’m back with the holiday cheer that only a canine with a large mouth and great jowls like me can bring! As turkey has come and gone, this lucky girl knows she has lots to be thankful for, especially the love and adoration—dare I say, the feeding frenzy?—that I’m showered with nonstop because of my enormous popularity. Kiss kiss, dahlings! I know you simply crave being in the presence of greatness. I’m addictive!

Of course, you all don’t know the downside of being the major icon that, according to my polling data, I am: always having to be on paw, so to speak—at the top of my game—which is certainly as hard as a ballerina being en pointe; leading my legions of worshippers, the Miss Wrinklers, who clamor for life-tips from moi; and maintaining my celebrity status by constant attention to dazzling couture and to pawing in place daily to keep my girlish trim. Alas!

Anyway, I’d like to get off my furry chest a few things for which I’m not thankful. Drum roll, please!

First, though I am thankful for the love of my mistress I cannot stand all the pinching, patting and petting that she inflicts on me. I know that it’s affection but the headaches it gives me are simply agonizing.  Somehow, I’ve got to teach her to stay on message but clam up otherwise.

Second, I’m truly prostrate with embarrassment, being such a giga-star with these ugly creases on my face. A weekly regimen at Vivesse could make them disappear, but oh no! All I get is a big fat world full of no from Her, who pretends she thinks my sagging, lined cheeks are works of art.

Third, I am simply not happy with my name.  I mean Miss Wrinkles.  At least it’s not Rin Tin Tin. There’s a dumb-ass name for a dog.  But something more befitting my inner beauty would be appreciated.

And, fourth, I am deprived of some of the best eats on this day of thanks. No turkey meat or skin or fat. My family just gorges themselves, plastering their faces with bird drippings, while I’m forced to sulk in a corner, waiting for those bones to be flung my way. I’d sure give my aching haunches for some of that gobble-gobble. I may just make my point by springing onto the table when no one’s looking and grabbing some game. Yes!

Time to turn in and tune out. I must avoid getting bags under my eyes—the wrinkles are bad enough. Toodeloo, mes precious petites.

A Big Bow-Wow from Your Own—

The Divine Miss Wrinkles