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