Dognapping Averted!!!

(Dear loyal readers. Though I wrote this last week, Main Mistress needed her laptop so I couldn't finish it at the time. Still, I think the post is timeless, so read on...)
Here we are in the arms of Junior Mistress, our savior.

See how happy we are?????!!!!

The reason we are happy is because we love her AND because she is a superhero who saved my sister and wife Nala from dognapping today at the sketchy dog-run in Morningside Heights.

What happened was this: Junior Mistress got us all dressed and out for an early morning shpatzir* down W116th Street, past Doody Row (Morningside Drive) and down the concrete steps towards the  Pitbull-infested dog run inside the park.

No sooner was I running around like a happy little missile than I saw Junior Mistress stride with fearful purpose towards a marginal character: a fiftyish single lady with long salt 'n pepper hair.

The character had Nala in her arms.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" yelled Junior Mistress, voice shaking. "Put my dog down! Why are you picking up my dog?"

Yeah!!! I thought, trotting up behind Junior Mistress, baring my scary Pomeranian teeth (or at least the remaining ones) and acting all alpha. Put down Nala, biyatch!!!!

Oh no, Nala communicated to me once she stopped batting her eyes at the stranger. I guess I have to be more careful who I wag my tail at??

Sometimes, Nala, you are a slut for human attention, I shot back at her.

Sorry, she said in a small voice, beginning to wriggle vigorously out of the interloper's arms.

It was clear to me, a Pomeranian without a college education (or any education, for that matter) that the woman was either:

a: deranged
b: high
c: drunk
d: psychotic
e: a dognapper
f: all the above

"Oh, okay. Sorry!!!" she said, placing Nala down on the ground, chuckling nervously.

Junior Mistress was breathing heavily. Glaring at the stranger, yanking on our leashes, she marched out of the dog run and homeward. With Junior Mistress distracted by her anger, it was safe to speak in Pomeranian.

"You dummy! I spat at Nala as we trotted back to our urban doghouse. "We could have been there for at least half an hour. Junior Mistress was going to call her BF and you know how long those conversations are!!! It would have been so awesome if you hadn't flirted with that wackadoodle!"

"Okay, okay!" Nala sighed. "You're right, Alfie. I have to have better judgement. She said she had a treat for me!"

"Omigod!!! Sometimes you are such a dope!" What was with my sister/wife????? "Do I have to explain everything to you????That is the oldest trick in the dognapper's bag!"

Nala looked crushed. "You mean there was no treat??"

So, today I learned that Junior Mistress is our true hero and savior and that Nala is a complete idiot.

Then again, probably all big brothers think that of their little sisters from time to time.

Barks 'n lick,

Alfie the Pomeranian
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*walk, in Yiddish

People Think It's Really Funny

So, until I saw this YouTube video, I thought I was the only dog afflicted with (whisper) diarrhea.

Now I know I am not alone.

And now maybe I can come out from under the couch where I've been hiding since Main Mistress vigorously scrubbed my butt in the bathtub while saying all kinds of not-nice things about me and Main Master Swiffered the apartment floors for about the tenth time since Friday afternoon while shouting not-nice names at me.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I think it was the Ol' Roy's or maybe that horrible Pedigree stuff you guys picked up at Duane Reade.

Speaking of Duane Reade, maybe find me some doggy diarrhea medicine???

I wish I was more like Alfie. He's been laughing his tail off throughout this entire episode. In fact, he has been barking The Diarrhea Song to me for the past hour. I fail to find the humor in this, but maybe you will.

Yours in humiliation,

Nala

Let's be Clear: Humans are the Real Animals

I cannot watch the news anymore.

Israeli tourists targeted by a terrorist in Bulgaria. Gun violence against movie-goers in Colorado. Ongoing civilian massacres in Syria.

Main Mistress cried last night when she read the biographies of the Israeli victims of the suicide bomber and again, this morning, when she watched footage of the shooting in Aurora, Colorado this morning.

She told me that both incidents were motivated by something called HATE.

I don't know what that is so I asked her to explain it to me.

She said it was the opposite of LOVE.

I'm not sure I understand what she means. For me, the opposite of LOVE is dislike.

For instance, I LOVE food but dislike going to the doctor.

Is that what she means?

When I was a puppy, I thought that humans were just like us, except bald and with fewer legs.

I am getting the message that they might not be like us at all.

They can feel this thing called HATE which blows up buses and shoots up movie theaters and hacks people to bits in the street in front of their loved ones.

So don't call us animals.

Shabbat Shalom,

Nala

16 (Love) Handles

One of the endearing yet laughable qualities of Main Mistress is that she avoids trends like the plague.  When Bridget Jones's Diary came out, she refused to read it for about two years because she was convinced she would hate it based on the numbers of people who loved it. Years earlier, she went through the same charade with Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone. And there have been innumerable instances of Main Mistress shunning a slamming product just because it is popular.

Therefore, when 16 Handles shops began sprouting up on Manhattan streets like Starbuckses, Main Mistress snorted loudly, rolled her eyes and strutted in the opposite direction, nose held high.

As it turns out, there is a 16 Handles directly across from her favorite hangout, the JCC in Manhattan, located -- in fact -- just behind the bus stop for Main Mistress's favorite bus line, the one that zips down Columbus and back up Amsterdam...the M11.

Day and night, winter, spring, summer and fall, throngs of people fill this shop. Every pink and orange chair in front of the shop is occupied at all hours. The business seems to be a real draw with the yarmulke crowd as the yogurt and toppings are certified kosher. Junior Mistress, a vegan, is a fan and frequently talks about how great 16 Handles is. "They have amazing dairy-free yogurt!" she has exulted.

Until last night, Main Mistress would simply sashay past the store but faced with the insane humidity of Bryant Park for the two hours she and Main Master spent waiting for the free showing of Roman Holiday to begin, there was no alternative.

Leaving their table on the side of the dangerously overcrowded Bryant Park lawn, where they had enjoyed a take-out dinner courtesy of The Hummus Place as well as white wine they had to surreptitiously sip (no booze allowed in the park), they headed for the Times Square subway station, sweat trickling down their backs, hair plastered to their foreheads and necks. At Main Mistresses's advice, they had parked their Honda on Columbus and 75th Street, having used the car previously to drive to the post office on 125th Street to pick up a package.

The original plan was to hop on an express, taking it one stop uptown but the platform of the uptown 1, 2 and 3 trains was easily 200 degrees. When a local train arrived first, they dove inside. On the train, Main Master looked like he was going to faint, while Main Mistress, happily plastered from two glasses of wine, hardly noticed that her hair had frizzed to Pomeranian-like dimensions. Arriving at the W72nd Street station, she realized that Main Master needed emergency care.

"Screme? 16 Handles?"she asked, as they walked past the Screme Gelato kiosk in Verdi Square, which was mobbed by humans who looked like they needed CPR.

But Main Master was too far gone to even respond.  Main Mistress took him by the hand and considered the best course of action. That course led them to the pink and orange shop on the corner of 75th and Amsterdam.

It was the right decision. Eyes growing big like frisbees, Main Master grabbed a cup and practically ran to the line of yogurt dispensers. The simple act of filling his cup with frozen yogurt acted like a shot of adrenaline. Soon, Main Master was skipping down the line of yogurt handles, giggling, like a kid at the Viennese table of a Bar Mitzvah. Ever cynical, Main Mistress scoped out the sample cups. Yes, there were oodles of flavors but before she committed, she wanted to know what the fuss was about.

While Main Master happily piled lychee nuts and walnuts atop his swirls of vanilla and blueberry yogurt, Main Mistress warily checked out the Coconut Custard Pie, the Praline and the Birthday Cake flavors.

The good news, as she told me later, is that 16 Handles is as delicious as Wally's soft-serve ice cream in Monroe and ostensibly healthier. A poster promoting the healthful benefits of probiotics assured her of this fact.

Sated from her sampling, Main Mistress made a mental note to commit to an actual cup of the stuff next time (that is, pay for the goods), topped, perhaps, with mini cheesecake cubes, slivered almonds and toasted coconut.

It sounds like a solid plan except for one detail.

How could she fail to notice that Nala and I have been dying in this heat!! Main Master is not the only one wilting on the street! What about her pooches?? Has she not noticed that we are saddled with these heavy fur coats??? Has she not heard our desperate panting??? Does she think we have internal air conditioning???

In the heat of a Manhattan summer, frozen treats are a dog's best friend. Hey Main Mistress!!! Next time, share a few of those 16 Handles with us!!!!!

Barks 'n lick,

Alfie

The End of Ol' Roy

Who doesn't love a bargain?

Main Mistress is certainly no exception. Therefore, when she stumbled upon the Ol' Roy brand of dog food last week at Walmart, she thought she had discovered dog food Nirvana.

A bit of background. Three years ago, after seeing the Reverend Billy movie, What Would Jesus Buy? Main Mistress swore off Walmart, which the movie revealed as one of the worst and exploitative American companies in the world. And she kept to her word...until Shabbat ended too late to see a movie and she and Main Master were stuck in the bungalow before the wireless network was hooked up and they were bored, etc, etc...

So she suggested heading over to Walmart to shop for a cheap DVD amid the hordes of Hasidim and townies. Doing Walmart on a Saturday night is a local tradition in the town of Monroe and probably every other godforsaken place in America.

I'm not sure how she came to that decision. Either Main Mistress is flexible or a complete hypocrite. I'm not sure. I'll ask Nala what she thinks.

Walking from the entertainment section holding onto a $5 DVD (Pineapple Express), they found themselves in the pet food aisle. That's where they saw the Ol' Roy brand, which is basically a total rip-off of the Cesar's package. Instead of a Westie, there is a Yorkie on the top. The color scheme is also the same. Main Mistress laughed raucously at first but the price looked right. At 60 cents a piece, Ol' Roy was 12 cents cheaper than Target's 72 cents per tub of the Cesar's dog food we also love.

"Let's get some!!!" she told Main Master. "How bad can it be??"

In truth, Nala and I thought that Ol' Roy was rather tasty...in a junky way. It was unlike anything we had ever tasted, even better than those smoked turkey slices we once stole off a deli platter. We tucked into the Ol' Roy with unusual gusto. Nala even stole my tub from me and I had to nip at her tail to get it back.

Our eagerness triggered Main Mistress's suspicions. This morning, she went online to investigate the nutritional content.

"I knew it!!!" she shouted, finding that it garnered a one-star rating from Dogfoodadvisor.

"Crap!!!" we said in unison. "The party's over!"

I just heard the jingle of keys. I think Main Mistress is on her way to Whole Foods or some other den of boring wholesomeness to upgrade our diet. Before she gets back, I'm going try to bury the remaining tubs where she cannot find them. Maybe underneath Main Master's dirty shirts at the bottom of his closet.

Mwwwaaaahaaahaaaa.

Yours truly,

Alfie

The Book of Job

Hi! It's Nala!!!

Alfie was under the weather yesterday, which drove him literally under the bed in Main Master and Mistress's bungalow bedroom.

Poor Alfie! He wouldn't eat. He wouldn't drink. He wouldn't bark. He wouldn't pee. He wouldn't move.

Of course, I worried about him.

"Hey, Alf??" I asked him in the morning when he failed to bound out of the screened porch of the bungalow in celebration of the gift of one more country morning. "What's going on, bro?"

But he couldn't even answer. He just stared at me with baleful eyes.

Suddenly, I had an idea.

"Wait a minute," I said, the wheels turning quickly in my mind. "Were you eavesdropping on the conversation that Main Master and Mistress had yesterday on The Book of Job with that weird pack of humans they call their 'havurah?' You know, where they were talking about whether God's answer out of the whirlwind was a satisfactory response to Job who had suffered with no apparent cause, other than being a pawn in a power struggle between God and The Adversary, sometimes mistakenly referred to as Satan in English because of the Hebrew Sa-Tan."

Alfie covered his head with his paws. I knew it! He was not sick, but in a state of existential despair.

Doggone it! With so many upbeat books to discuss -- "50 Shades of Grey" is my favorite -- I just don't get why the humans think it is a good idea to ponder the puzzle of theodicy on a sunny summer day. I mean, I like Kafka and all and can even get into Sartre when the mood strikes me, but when you start delving into the conundrum of a just God in a world with evil and suffering, that is a bit too much for a Pomeranian to bear.

Fortunately, the gloom started to lift late last night. Maybe it was because Alfie peed on Main Master's copy of Robert Alter's "The Wisdom Books," offering his own commentary on the futility of seeking meaning in a meaningless world.

Whatever the cause, Alfie is back to his playful, happy self, cavorting in the sunny lawn outside of the bungalow while Main Mistress labors away on her laptop.

For next week, I will insist that the humans have a more uplifting discussion.

xxxooo,

Nala

Back from the Beauty Parlor

We're free!!! We're freeeeeee!!! And freedom tastes of reality!!!

Here I am, with Nala, outside of Snowball's Pet Salon, on Columbus Avenue. Note the smiles on our faces. You have never seen more joyous dogs in your life.

Main Master sneakily walked us to Snowball's this morning for our 9 a.m. torture grooming session. As we approached the store, I caught onto his devious plan and launched into an impassioned protest. It was Occupy Pet Salon time. I sat down. I growled. I looked surly. I lowered my ears and affected a pitiful look. Then I bared my teeth and looked fierce.

Hell no, I wouldn't go.

While I tried to communicate my plan to Nala, she didn't catch on, seduced as she was by the idea of a wash and blowout. "Omigod! I'm going to look so awesome afterwards!!!! And I'm going to smell good, too!!!! I love the doggie spa!"

"Hey," I tried to warn her. "They do terrible things to puppies in there! Don't be fooled. Grooming is for the owners, not the dogs! It's to make them look good! We always look good, even when we're matted!"

But Nala was too busy flirting with a passing crack addict and his Doberman.

Main Master lifted me up and carried me inside while Nala trotted in for her beauty appointment. I glared at her and hated all of humanity.

"Don't go!!!" I barked to Main Master, but he was gone in a flash.

Strapped to the horrible slab, browbeaten into submission, I overheard my groomer talking about us to another groomer.

"F@#$ that matted fur!" she said. "No f&(*ing way I'm gonna brush it through! F$%&ing incompetent pet owners!!"

And then she reached for the power tools.

Afterwards, we waited in humiliating cages while Main Master took his sweeeet time retrieving us.

"How do you like my new haircut?" asked Nala, preening. "Don't you think it makes my butt look smaller???"

Nala is beautiful but she is truly the fattest dog I have ever seen. Rather than insult her, I turned away and stared at the wall with glum silence.

Half an hour later, we were sprung from the prison that is a Pet Salon and now I'm lounging on the couch, drowning my sorrow in a cool bowl of NYC tap water. Yeah, my fur looks pretty great but what an ordeal!

Meanwhile, Nala is strutting in front of the mirror in Junior Mistress's room, checking out her new coif from all directions.

"Hey!" she keeps saying, to anyone who will listen. "I think this new hairstyle really does make my butt look smaller!"

Hey Sammy! Take a Walk!!!!

This is me, Alfie.

And this is my wife and sister, Nala.


I turned 12 in June. Nala turned three in May. We are half brother and sister, born at Annette Wood's place in Liberty, NY. Sadly, we are orphans. Our dad was known as the stately Gizmo's Gadget. My mom was the elegant Pixie Girl. Nala's mom was Pebbles. Annette is the world's best Pomeranian breeder.


We are the unofficial mayors of Morningside Heights. Walk with us in the city and you will find yourself the most popular person in town. Check it out sometime. You'll find that we elicit coos of admiration from small children to muscle-bound delivery guys alike. For some reason, we've found that Asian girls especially really like us. 


Here we are, in our apartment overlooking Columbia University. We live with a family of humans who are superstars in their own right. They consist of: Main Mistress -- a writer and publicist; Main Master -- a Columbia professor and writer; Junior Mistress -- a 24-year-old chanteuse who works in human rights; and Junior Master -- a 17-year-old rock god who just finished 11th grade.


There is another human who lives in Berlin, Germany. I remember him playing catch with me when I was a puppy. Also, I remember that he dressed me in small human clothes and made indie films, starring me and a Franz Kafka puppet. We call him Big Main Master.


Recently, it has come to our attention that another NYC Pomeranian has a popular blog. To see what the fuss was, we checked it out.


In response, I am moved to paraphrase Linda Ronstadt:


Although he may be cute, he's not a substitute.


But what I really want to say is: Hey Sammy! Take a walk!


Alfie and Nala the Pomeranians have taken over the blogosphere.


Like many celebs, we have a sex make-out tape. Check it out:

Brown Eyed Girl Dance!

Here's the video for the FlashMob Dance to "Brown-Eyed Girl!"

Email me if you have questions:

shira.dicker@sd-media.com

Thanks for being part of my daughter's birthday Flash Mob!!

Details:

Thursday Night, June 23
7 pm (gather 6:15 for rehearsal)

Subway Plaza (street level, outside)
Broadway and 72, between 72 ad 73

See ya there!

Get A Wife!

Hello loyal readers!

Sorry to have been away for so long from the computer but my fabulous life as a Manhattan Pomeranian has meant that I arrive home pooped (not THAT kind of pooped) and swiftly sink into sleep at the bottom of Main Master's closet, on top of his dirty shirts and smelly shoes.

Bliss!!!!!!!!!!

The new day always dawns with my bladder almost bursting and me begging the Human Family to take me out, which they only do when Junior Master's yellow school bus pulls up.

So, sorry, readers, but there has been precious little time to blog.

Now, you might be wondering, with this amazing life (things to sniff, places to pee upon...) why blog now??

Good question.

The answer is that I overheard Junior Master telling Main Mistress about a boy in his class named Ari who is a loyal reader of Alfie the Pomeranian. He was wondering when a new post would appear.

That day has arrived, Ari.

This post is for you.

So...here's what's on my mind:

You know, my life is pretty full. I've got this pack of humans to guard, a homicidal hamster to watch, beds to jump onto, food to eat, delivery guys to bark at, pigeons to harass, television movies to watch, food to steal....however, lately, I must admit to feel the teeniest bit lonely.

After watching Main Mistress hugging Main Master the other day, it hit me like a bolt of lightening.

I need a wife.

Yes, me, Alfie the Pomeranian, the classic New York bachelor, wants to settle down with a sweet little b...I mean, female Pomeranian. Ideally, she would have black fur, like Main Mistress. The problem is...where can I find such a creature???

I know that the single friends of Main Mister and Mistress go on this internet site called JDate, where they find all kinds of amazing Jewish people to date. So...I am hereby announcing the creation of a canine dating site -- PDate -- exclusively for Pomeranians. I don't want to be nasty or anything, but I really want to marry within my breed. There is just too much Pomeranian tradition that I don't want to lose.

Besides, I'm not really attracted to Boxers (too ugly), Schnauzers(too eager), Greyhounds (too fast), German Shepherds (too scary), Standard Poodles (too evil), Shar-Peis (too wrinkled), Norwegian Elkhounds (too bulky), Weimaraners (too photogenic), St. Bernards (too helpful), Afghans (too long-haired), Salukis (too foreign), Dachshunds (too short and long), Japanese Chins (too hideous for words), Chihuahuas (too nervous) or Russian Wolfhounds (too communist).

So, all you little girl Pomeranians out there, check out my profile on the soon-to-be-created PDate. It'll say something like:

Adorable blond Pomeranian, a vigorous 7 and a half years old, likes long belly rubs, barking at pigeons, chasing squirrels, eating snow, stealing chocolate and joining Little Master at night when he says Sh'ma with Main Mistress. Must love challah and potato kugel. Looking for that perfect She-Pom to share a happy life with. Would prefer a black-haired gal.

Above all, must love to sleep on top of dirty shirts and smelly shoes.

MOTHER NATURE'S PUP

Did I mention that last week, My Human Family removed me from the Urban Bungalow and deposited me -- together with the entire contents of Main Mistress's home office -- in a remote locale, guardian of an abode they call, nauseatingly enough, The Love Shack???

Yes. Me, the chronicler of Upper West Side life, a nature pup.

Stuck in The Love Shack, with controlled forays through this place they call Rosmarin's Cottages.

With only sporadic visits to the Urban Bungalow and my beloved Amsterdam Avenue.

And with the mystery of Ari the Hamster's disappearance still unsolved.

Or is it??

In any case, here's my new life from now until Labor Day:

6:00 am: Main Mistress wakes. Staggers to kitchen to boil water for her newest mishigoss -- Green Tea. I heard her tell someone she's "detoxing" from coffee. Good move, Main Mistress! You def had an addiction there. I was gonna call LiLo and ask if you could be roomies with her at rehab.

Watching Main Mistress drink two steaming cups of green tea with lime juice makes me want to die so I opt to go back to sleep, snuggled on her bed (Ha, ha...our little secret while Main Master is in Manhattan!) until...

8:00 am: Main Mistress has returned from Straub's Fitness all nice and sweaty. This I like! I rush over and lick her salty shins and her salty neck and her salty armpits and her salty....

8:15ish am -- Junior Master wakes up. He staggers to the bathroom. He emerges, announcing that he is starving. This reminds me. I'm starving, too!!! I run to my food bowl in a burst of optimistic magical thinking, hoping I will see a huge rack of lamb instead of the dry and pathetic Iams nuggets that await me.

O joy.

8:20 am: Main Mistress takes me out for a pee 'n poop on the grass. I try to poop on our Russian neighbor's lawn, but Main Mistress drags me away and I am forced to poop in the back of the bungalow.

Spoil sport!!!

8:30 am: Junior Master eats and I pathetically whine until he throws me stuff. Still, it is hardly enough so I relent and munch on Iams. Blecchhhh! Then I wait expectantly until my humans get their act together and leave for day camp.

9:30 am: Drop-off at Rosmarins Day Camp. Humans! Lots of 'em! And little humans!!! They pet me! They love me! I lick them! I love them!!!

9:45-11:45 am: A nice snooze under the Master Human bed.

11:45 am: Suddenly, an urge overtakes me. Main Mistress is staring into the computer in her bedroom. She's been blabbing on the phone for hours. What a life! Get outside, lady! I decide to set an example. I run to the front of the bungalow, madly barking. Main Mistress talks to me in that gooey baby voice and lets me out. I AM FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I run like a torpedo. I pee like a waterfall. I bark like a lunatic. I terrorize the Russian old women. I delight the young children. I annoy the heck out of the sourpuss lady in Bungalow X.

12:15 pm: I find a cozy spot under a shady tree to rest from my exertions. Main Mistress is blabbing again. I notice she changed into a bikini. Oo-la-la!!!!! She has a bedsheet in her hands, a water bottle and her Blackberry. She is coming to join me! But in the sun!!!! Go, Main Mistress!!!!!

12:18 pm: What a saint! She has brought me, her puppy, a bowl of water, which I desperately needed. And she is set up in the sun, with her notebook, phone and Blackberry. She lies in the sun, answering e-mails.

THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON: I sleep, I drink water, I munch on Iams, I run inside, I run outside, I chase a woodchuck, I bark at a squirrel, I read the New York Times (just kidding. Wanted to see if you were paying attention!!!), I sleep, I await the return of Junior Master.

4:45 pm: Junior Master is HOME!!! Joy!!! I run to lick his sticky calves as he walks through the bungalow door with arts and crafts projects, notes from camp and other stuff. He dumps his stuff, kisses Main Mistress, pets me and speaks in a squeaky voice and....is off to the pool????? Hey, what about me???????????

5:25 pm: Junior Master is BACK!!! He changes out of his bathing suit. He puts on a white outfit. It looks like PJs. Yay! HE is going to sleep early! We can snuggle!!!!!!!!!! But......NO!!! He is leaving, AGAIN, with Main Mistress????? What???? Tae Kwon Do????????

7:00 pm: Junior Master is HOME!!!!! I bark like a lunatic to greet him, but he mistakes my message and opens the door for me to run out. I cannot resist. I run like a torpedo. I pee like a waterfall. I bark like a lunatic. I terrorize the Russian old women. I delight the young children. I annoy the heck out of the sourpuss lady in Bungalow X.

7:30 pm: More humans! Of the little boy persuasion! Descending on the bungalow to see me!!!! I am greeted with fluffs on my back. I settle in at their feet and await their attentions. But no. It is not to be. They have come to read anime and watch Youtube on Junior Master's Mac.

8:00 pm: Dinner!!! I beg for scraps -- rather vocally -- and hear "shut up, Alfie!" more times than I would like. Still, they throw me food. Snap!!!

8:30 pm : One of the boys is conned into taking me out for a walk on a leash. Sigh. Okay. I pee on a nearby tree and sniff the forest for adventure.

8:45 pm: Main Mistress turns to her computer again. Her fingers start clacking the keyboard like mad. Hey, GET A LIFE! Read a book! Read the paper. Meanwhile, she doesn't notice that Junior Master and his friend are watching naughty Youtube videos.

10:00 pm: Main Mistress gives Junior Master the "five minute warning" for bedtime.

10:45 pm: Yeah. That was five minutes. Junior Master grudgingly brushes his teeth. I jump on his bed and snuggle in, cozily.

10:50 pm: Sh'ma. Sigh. I LOVE this time of day!

10:55 pm: Lights out in the kitchen. Main Mistress goes to read the blogs and websites. I fall asleep to the sound of her clacking fingers. Junior Master falls instantly asleep.

3:00 am: I switch beds because Junior Master is tossing. Main Mistress sleeps like a log. She is probably e-mailing in her sleep. I snuggle in next to her chin. She breathes deeply. I close my eyes.

This is heaven.

Sighs and whispers,

Alfie the Pomeranian

ALFIE'S UNSOLVED MYSTERIES

It has been one month since I caught scent of Ari the Hamster and now I am forced to assume the worst.

Today, I shared my concerns with Main Mistress and she donned plastic gloves and stuck her hand inside the nasty shavings that constitute the floor of the cage that Emma and Ari the Hamsters called home.

Curiously, I nestled at her feet as she moved her hand hither and yon through the gnarly, half-chewed recycled newspaper.

At first impassive, her face became puzzled, then mystified and then, downright horrified.

She drew back from the cage. She peered through the glass walls. She shook the cage, allowing the shavings to fall to either side.

"There's no sign of Ari," she reported to me...or to the room at large, I couldn't tell.

"How is that possible?" She looked suspiciously at Emma the Hamster, noting that she had become fat, impressively fat. For her part, Emma stared back at her with a smirk.

The problem with humans is that they miss the reality that is staring them in the face.

"I don't know," Main Mistress sighed, removing the gloves and leaving them for Leidy the cleaning lady. "Maybe Ari escaped."

In her cage, Emma the Hamster, sat on her haunches and laughed her butt off.

Too bad she didn't realize I was watching. Watching not only her wicked laughter but the whole miserable year of spousal abuse that unfolded within their glass house. Watching Ari's fur disappearing patch by patch. Watching Emma's burgeoning frame. Listening to his heart-wrenching squeaks in the middle of the night... and finally, listening to his silence.

Well, dogs have been known to solve mysteries, in fact, I would say we're been pretty darn invaluable to detectives and private investigators. Criminals leave clues at the crime scene that are often overlooked by human eyes, human ears, human noses and human hands.

Even criminals who happen to be itty, bitty, furry little creatures.

I am on the case.

The mystery of Ari the Hamster's disappearance is about to be solved.

Yips and yaps,

Alfie the Pomeranian

SICK AS A DOG

Junior Master has a dastardly cold. When Main Mistress came home tonight, she promptly drew a hot bath, filled it with peppermint oil and sat bath-side, reading to Junior Master while he groaned in the water.

"Mom," I heard him say. "Where does the expression 'sick as a dog' come from?"

My puppy ears pricked up immediately from the hiding place I had secreted myself into after learning that I would not be enjoying the tasty treat of Main Mistress's sweaty, post-workout feet. Though she had gone on a late night walk for a couple of miles, her final destination was the nail salon where she had a pedicure.

When I saw those ebony-dark toenails and buffed, lotioned and perfumed soles headed my way, I quickly beat it to the bottom of Main Master's side of closet, where I drowned my sorrows in his dirty shirts.

Anyway, the question of Junior Master drew me from my lair. To my surprise, Main Mistress burst into laughter and repeated the question to Main Master, who was trying to escape to his office. Determined to reward her child's curiosity, she mused aloud that perhaps the expression came from a time when dogs were not the pampered princes and princesses they are today, but rather, were treated like homeless vagrants.

Well, later at night, after Junior Master went to sleep and while Main Mistress was busy blogging on her site (check out http://bungalow-babe.blogspot.com/) I snuck to Main Master's laptop and did a little sleuthing. It paid off, as you will see from the following information, gleaned from www.worldwidewords.com:

Q] From Ehud Maimon in Jerusalem: “I would appreciate it if you could help me find the origin of the expression sick as a dog.”

[A] There are several expressions of the form sick as a ..., that date from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Sick as a dog is actually the oldest of them, recorded from 1705; it is probably no more than an attempt to give force to a strongly worded statement of physical unhappiness. It was attached to a dog, I would guess, because dogs often seem to have been linked to things considered unpleasant or undesirable; down the years they have had an incredibly bad press, linguistically speaking (think of dog tired, dog in the manger, dog’s breakfast, go to the dogs, dog Latin — big dictionaries have long entries about all the ways that dog has been used in a negative sense).

At various times cats, rats and horses have been also dragged in to the expression, though an odd thing is that horses can’t vomit; one nineteenth-century writer did suggest that this version was used “when a person is exceedingly sick without vomiting”. The strangest member of the set was used by Jonathan Swift in 1731: “Poor Miss, she’s sick as a Cushion, she wants nothing but stuffing” (stop laughing at the back).

The modern sick as a parrot recorded from the 1970s — at one time much overused by British sportsmen as the opposite of over the moon — refers to a state of deep mental depression rather than physical illness; this perhaps comes from instances of parrots contracting psittacosis and passing it to their human owners.

Anyway, poor little Junior Master is indeed sick, but I prefer a different simile. Let's just say that he's as sick as can be.

Luv and howls,

Alfie the Pomeranian

PS: What the HECK is psittacosis?????????????????????????????????

A POMERANIAN PASSOVER

Alright, all you (Jewish) humans out there. If you think that it is actually funny to toss little pieces of matzah to your pet pooch, allow me to enlighten you.

Whatever matzah does to human stomachs is an absolute stroll through Central Park compared to the havoc it wreaks on our tender little tummies.

Unless, of course, you are trying to reverse a case of doggy diarrhea, please, please, please keep the edible cardboard on the table and toss us the leftover shankbone from the Seder Plate or some tasty pieces of Kosher for Passover cheese instead.

Thank you.

So, here I am, up at the crack of dawn on the last day of chol hamoed, the middle days of Passover when Jewish humans get to congregate en masse in places like the Bronx Zoo, the Central Park Zoo, The American Museum of Natural History, the circus (if it is in town) or movie theatres. If you haven't seen Hasidic people in a while, you should definitely also check out Astroland or the New York Aquarium as well.

I heard some rumblings from Main Master and Mistress that I am being shipped out to BOMM (Brother of Main Master) and WOBOMM (Wife of Brother of Main Master) for the last days of the holiday because my Human Family is going to Great Neck, home of mah gurl Natalie (check the post I Love Natalie!), a town that makes Main Mistress feel like a sociologist every time she visits.

This is an interesting development because WOBOMM has a Pomette that she left in Israel. I understand that the Pom's name is Mishmish (it means Apricot in Hebrew) and she is a tasty little number indeed. Maybe if I make a good impression, WOBOMM will give me Mishmish's phone number!

And speaking of other dogs....I understand that BOJM (Boyfriend of Junior Mistress) took umbrage that the suggestion that his dog, Coco (whose name I mispelled in a previous post as Cocoa...which of course makes more sense since: a: the dog is male and every Coco I ever heard of is female, and, b: the dog is brown, just like Cocoa) might be gay.

Well, Mr. BOJM, just to clarify matters, I do not consider it an insult to be gay. I, myself, had some questions about my sexual orientation when I was a young Pom and do not judge my fellow dogs by such superficial criteria. In fact, I support the right of ALL dogs to go to Rabbinical School and am on the record as saying so.

Check with my Main Mistress, who is my publicist.

Hey, BOJM! If ya don't want people to think that Coco is a girly-dog, give him a name like Spike, or Stud or Butch, f'crisakes!

And speaking of crisakes...Happy Easter to all my fellow canines living with Christian Human Families!

Yours in constipation,

Alfie the Pomeranian

A VISIT FROM THE DEVIL, AKA COCOA THE DOG

Dear Junior Mistress,

I must have a bark with you about today's horrific visit from that doody-colored dog who accompanied your boyfriend to Our House.

That dog was the devil. He pooped on the floor. He peed on the floor. He tried to hump me. He spent an inordinate amount of time sniffing my butt. He tried to kill me.

I do not understand what this means. Don't you love me anymore? Yes, it was a joyous reunion at Kennedy Airport yesterday when I jumped about ten feet to lick your face in greeting. Yes, I snuggled in your lap during the traffic-clogged trip back to the city.

Yes, you let me lick your feet when we were home and then I snuggled with you and Reeb on the couch that is coming apart at the seams. I think I even slept with you for a portion of the night.

But a Pom's home is his castle and I cannot have intruders such as Cocoa inside my royal abode.

I hope you understand.


Love and wags,


Alfie the Pomeranian

PS: I think that Cocoa might be gay.
PPS: I hope you like the picture I found of the Famous Emma Goldman
PPPS: Even though she's more famous than you, you are WAY prettier
PPPPS: I still love you!!! Even if you have broken my puppy heart.

ME AND MAH GURL

Tomorrow afternoon, at approximately 4:10 pm, mah main gurl, Junior Mistress, is coming home from Israel. For two whole weeks!!! Over the matzah holiday!!!!!

And I get to go to the airport with Main Mistress and Junior Master!!!!

Yay!!!! Yipppeee!!!!! Woo-hoooo!!!!

I am so excited I almost just peed on the floor in the room where Main Mistress is working. Frankly, she's so focused that I doubt she would notice. So, maybe I will pee...hmmmm.

Nah, I decided not to. Main Mistress is PMS-ing and this would not be a good thing.

When Junior Mistress returns home, I am going to ask her if I can sleep in her bed. This is what I plan to do if she says yes:

Lick her toes

Lick her toes

Lick her toes.

In short, lick her toes.

What? Don't make that face!!! They are really tasty!!!

Gotta go now. Main Mistress wants to go for a treadmill trot. Ha! Get a life, lady!!! It's gorgeous outside. Why not hit the campus of Columbia University, perhaps run up the steps of Low Library?

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Because you look fat in your running shorts 'coz you have PMS. Right.

Next post will chronicle the return of Junior Mistress.

I hope she doesn't have PMS as well. I might not survive.

Love and poops,

Alfie the Pomeranian

I LOVE NATALIE!!

How fabulous is it to be a Pomeranian?

I'll tell you.

Very fabulous.

So fabulous that you get stopped all the time on the street by strangers because you are so cute. Most of these strangers are girls. They stop and melt when they see me. They coo, they squeal, they bend down to get on my level. In response, I jump on them and go crazy licking their hands, faces, basically anything I can get my tongue on!

They love it. I love it.

It's good to be a Pomeranian, especially one with luxurious blond hair, a little foxy nose and a wildly curling tail. It doesn't hurt that I bounce down the street on my teeny little feet and I have a pleasant bark. Not too yippy like some dogs I know but who shall remain nameless.

Yeah...I'm a babe magnet. Senior Master once joked about borrowing me and going to a bar to increase his chances with the women. That is a surefire road to success! Do it, Senior Master!!! (I especially like The Stone Rose, the bar at the new Time Warner Center. The waitresses are SMOKIN' there.)

Well, of all the girls out there who have fallen in love with me as we pass on the street, none can compare with a very special girl who is a family member. Her name is Natalie. She has long dark hair and ENORMOUS dark eyes. She is adorable!!! And we have a special little love-thing going on.

Me and Mrs. Natalie. We've got a thing....going on!

Here's what is so great about this. She used to be afraid of all dogs and to that I say, good thinking, Natalie! Some dogs ARE scary!!! Be afraid. Be very afraid.

And she used to be afraid of me, despite my extreme cuteness. This, of course, hurt my feelings a bit even as I understood that it wasn't me, per se, she was afraid of. It was Dogness. The concept of canines. Not cute little me.

Meanwhile, I cannot explain why, but one day Natz decided that I'm okay and the next thing ya know, we're madly in love!!! And she even started asking Main Mistress and Junior Master to bring me over for special playdates!!! Yippppeeeeeee!!!

So, now I've got a little thang going on with Natalie. She even has a special doggie dish for me and some doggie treats like the astronauts eat. One of fave things to do is to go to her house and hang out with her and her brothers and sisters. There are about five million of them in that house, I think.

So here's a shout-out to mah gurl Natalie: I LOVE YOU!!! You rock my world!!!

Barks and licks,

Alfie the Pomeranian

Welcome to the Fabulous Life of Alfie the Pomeranian

Wow! I've got my own blog!!! Or, should there be some new word invented for a dog's blog, perhaps a doglog??

In any case, I've got one. Kewwwwwwwwwwwl! I hope that my Main Mistress, whom I've hired to type this entry (the keyboard is in English and I can only type in Pomeranian) sends the URL to Junior Mistress who is currently in Israel.

Junior Mistress is 18. And a half. She's in her year between high school and college. I love Junior Mistress! And I miss her to pieces!!! She's the reason I came to live with My Human Family in Manhattan. She's been gone for sooooo long that I want to howl every time I think of it. I think I saw her last time during that holiday with the turkey. Junior Mistress slipped me a HUGE piece of turkey skin under the table. Delish!!!

So, here I am, lying at the feet of my Main Mistress sending her telepathic messages. They read, "Send the URL to Junior Mistress. Stop. Better yet, call Junior Mistress in the morning and tell her about the new blog. Stop."

Junior Mistress will love this!!! And when she returns home for that matzah holiday (yay!! I LOVE matzah!!!) I will spend about an hour licking her feet. I hope they are nice and dirty from Ein Gedi. Yum!!!!

This blog is my own doggy diary. I'll bet you're thinking, "Big deal. Why would I be interested in reading the blog of a Pomeranian?"

And if you are thinking something along those lines, you obviously do not know the first thing about the fabulous lives Pomeranians lead. But I intend to educate you.

In this post, I just wanted to introduce my personal peeps:

Main Mistress: She has short dark hair and is addicted to coffee. Her life is a wreck. She works all the time. She loves reading and writes mysterious things in the middle of the night. She has a really loud voice. I think she is a grown-up because she has three kids, two of whom are grown-up. But I'm not sure because she doesn't really act like a grown-up. She likes to dance a lot. She likes to exercise a lot. She loves summer. She hates cleaning. She likes to throw parties. She loves to travel. She lets me sleep with her when the Main Master is away. She takes me for walks only when the Main Master is away but I live with her in our country bungalow in the summer and then she takes care of me all the time.

Main Master: He is tall with glasses. He looks like a professor. He is a professor. He teaches at that huge place across the street from Our House. He brought me home from my Pom Family to my Human Family. He takes the best care of me. He takes me out whenever I need to, in fact, I need to pee the minute I see him. It's Pavlovian. He likes reading newspapers and listens to music on a cable tv channel that has writing and information about the composers. He doesn't let me sleep on the bed. He once chased me with a pillow because I bit him when he took my chocolate away. I love the way his shoes and dirty clothes smell. I usually hang out in his closet when I can't get away with sleeping on his pillow. I think he might be my real father. Or maybe God.

Senior Master: He goes to the huge place across the street. He's very smart...I can tell. He has bottles of Absinthe in his room from strange European countries. His room has about five million books. He is sort of a grown-up but I'm not sure. His friends like me a lot. I'm not sure he likes me. Still, I like to lick him and jump up on him. I cannot help loving him. He once played catch with me. I did NOT like that! He also once put a dress on me and made me star in a movie he made that is on YouTube. All I have to say about that movie is WTF??!!!

Junior Mistress: Well, I told you a bit about her. She is beautiful. She has a GREAT singing voice. And she's an amazing actress! (Can I still say actress these days? Dogs aren't big on PC-speak.) I know she'll be famous one day!!!!I like to steal her underwear from the hamper but this makes her mad. She loves me. Her friends all love me, esp the friend named Reeb. Reeb is like a second Junior Mistress to me. I love anyone connected to Junior Mistress. I love her so much I almost wish I was human so I could marry her. But she has a boyfriend. For a human, he looks okay, mostly because he has a lot of hair.

Junior Master: He is kind of like my brother. I really love him, too! I'm planning on sleeping in his bed tonight. That is a very cozy place to sleep, take it from me. He sometimes even hugs me in his sleep. He plays the cello. He also has an amazing singing voice. I think he should be a rock star! Or a singing cellist. I like the sound of his singing and his cello. Sometimes, though, he makes other sounds that I hate!!!! Dog ears are sensitive!!! He has the sweatiest feet in the family, ergo, the tastiest for me!!! He also doesn't mind if I steal his undies from the hamper. Now those are tasty underpants! Junior Master watches too much TV, in my opinion. But he tosses me a lot of food because I bark my brain off when I see him having snack. When he wakes up in the morning, I like to growl at him just for the heck of it. He's too young to drink coffee but he sure could use it to help wake up.

Then, there are other creatures who live in Our House but they are beneath my dignity to mention. Suffice it to say that they live in a cage and are rodents.

Anyway, my tail is beginning to droop. There is so much more to say but I'll sign off now for tonight.

Catch you later!!!

Alfie the Pomeranian