WHOof Am I?: Life & Times of A Spoilt Doggie 2



Me at 8 weeks old. Daddy just brought me home for the first time.


Sept 10, 2006

It has just come to my attention that I have been talking too much about other people and not introducing myself. I apologise. Having a big heart and talking about everyone else but myself is part of my charm.

I have never always been called Cleopatra. In my birth certificate (or pedigree certificate, if you prefer that), I am known as Allstar Camelia. Yeeaaah, not the most interesting of names to go by. Allstar? God, who the heck comes up with names like that? I could probably still stomach Camelia, but even then, only if you paid me two years’  supply of Greenies or Dentastix.

Mummy and daddy changed my name as soon as they brought me home. I must admit that I was pleased to be renamed — and that of an Egyptian princess to boot! WOOT! Sorry, that’s your language. In mine it’s WOOF!

Back to (the original) Cleopatra, though. What a hotshot she was! She was Caesar’s and Mark Antony’s mistress, like one after the other! She must’ve had lots of fun being the belle of the ball. I’d be lucky if I get to even have a boyfriend, let alone a friend who’s a boy! Mummy’s super anal about me not getting friendly with the boys. Someone please sign me up for a nunnery already!

On a positive note, life could be worse. For instance, I could’ve been born a boy and that would’ve been disgusting. Imagine humping everything within reach! Case in point: I remember meeting a miniature doberman pinscher once. He was a bleeding mad, ridiculously little thing who was infuriatingly noisy and, for reasons known only to him, loved spinning in circles. His name’s Adolf, by the way…it figures.

Anyway, we went to visit Mummy and daddy’s friend that one time. Adolf tried to be charming, but failed miserably. I suppose I should give him points for effort, but I’m not feeling particularly charitable today. Or that day, for that matter. The pedigree in me just refused to come down (it’s a long way down, mind you, seeing as he’s so vertically challenged) to his level. After a few moments, he just gave up trying to be friendly, and decided to get down (up?) to, well, business.

Yes, he tried to hump me. And failed. Miserably. Because he was way too short and, gawd, way too out of my league. It was quite amusing, really. I didn’t have to do much, except stand there  — it’s not like he could reach me anyway. On his hind legs, his little wee-wee could only come as high as the back of my thighs, although I have to say cum come he did not, heh heh. What a loser.

Well, folks, that was as close as I will ever get to being intimate with a boy. It’s ok, I’ve resigned myself to being devoted to Mummy for the rest of my life anyway. There are worse things that could happen.

I realise that I have meandered quite a distance from my original purpose for this post. Sorry, I get it from Mummy. She gets carried away too sometimes. Very short concentration span.. such a child, she is.

So, let me just get down to it:

Pedigree: Miniature Schnauzer (I hate the word ‘breed’. Makes me sound like a mongrel)
Colour: Salt & Pepper
Height: Almost reaching Mummy’s knees
Weight: About three bags of Addiction Porchetta dog food
Date of birth: 2 May 2006 (In doggie years, I could be older than a whole lot of you)
Star Sign: Taurus
Favourite food: Addiction Lamb and Porchetta
Favourite treat: Greenies
Sex: Bitch (For the record, I hate that word, too. Plus I ain’t getting any. Sex, that is. Bummer)

I live with Mummy, so come visit me — I’m never too busy to sign autographs.



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