Botox has left the building

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bad ass |noun| when you look in the dictionary under bad ass, a picture of me is what you get!

Girl Owner just stepped out and I’m breaking into her laptop. She is unaware that I recently completed an online course called “Doggy Blogesque Burlesque – From Woof to Umpf”. I’m preparing for my impending ventures in bunga-bunga land – Italy, the next step on our itinerary – and have become something of a hot little item in the canine blogosphere.

I’m a little shocked to find so few references to me in Girl Owner’s blog, when everyone knows who rules this roost – and it ain’t no human. So this last Leistonian post is written by me, all about me – because Botox (that’s me) is everybody’s favorite topic. And why wouldn’t it be? I am the swaggery Jagger of dogs – just look at my headshot. And this is the God honest truth, if for no reason than I don’t have the balls to be cocky – literally.

 The first thing I’d like to set straight after reading Girl Owner’s blog is this business about the FIFA-thon. Yeah sure – Boy Owner is doing some little masters, but the real reason behind all these moves is my blooming career in show biz.

 In addition to being the official FIFA Master mascot (and, yes, I did star in the promo film), Leicester has been all about perfecting my English bark (it is the lingua franca of Doggywood these days) AND whipping me into shape for my Milanese fashion castings. Baggable pooches are sooo 2012, butch delectabilities such as myself are the new miniature poodle.

 My daily routine is serious business. Boy Owner is my personal trainer. Come rain or rain, he takes me out at the crack of dawn for my morning cardio routine (basically, chasing squirrels and lawn laps), followed by an evening workout of wrestling with my bud Messi – a bonkers Polish border collie. (These harsh weather workouts have their advantages – in the poop field, anyway. Without a little poop steam, trying to find my opuses amid the autumn leaves is like a sadistic game of Where’s Waldo for Boy Owner.)

Girl Owner is my full-time beautician. (She dabbles in writing on the side.) She gives me doggie massages, brushes my fur, cleans my teeth, applies my beauty creams, cuts my nails – although once she did go all Hannibal Lecter on me. I think rum was involved. She makes sure I get plenty of beauty sleep and pets me at least 100 times a day to make sure my coat is nice and shiny. My new coat actually just grew in and, let me tell you, I am looking fine. Those Leicester bitches just can’t get enough. People around here give me bad vibes sometimes, though, with their brawling, “go screw yourself” attitude. I don’t like people messing with my posse, so whenever abusive blind-guy (yes, I didn’t know that was possible either) or lying landlord-guy appear I give them two deep barks to let them know what´s what. Girl Owner says it’s bad for my wrinkles and I should chill out. She’s a peach.

The daily workout is usually supplemented by a longer weekly hike/doggy marathon. I dig those. The other day we went to this awesome park with ducks and deer and peacocks. I did some warm-up laps around Girl Owner and then got cracking with the serious running. I ran and ran and ran. And when I spotted a herd of lazy ass deer off in the distance, I thought I’d run over and invite them to join me on my run. They all got up thinking it was a great idea and we all raced each other to the other side of the big ass park. I don’t know why Girl Owner was so worked up when she finally caught up with me. I guess she was annoyed she couldn’t keep up. Was that why she kept calling out my name? And what was this talk about getting shot by a park ranger? Why – are they sore losers too? (Note: I have since been back to this park and saw my mug shot with a warning saying “Dogs Found Chasing Deer Are Liable To Be Shot”. I looked pretty smooth in that mug shot.)

Anyway, so tomorrow we leave. It’ll be the usual confusion with Boy Owner struggling to pack everything into our car, while scolding Girl Owner for having too many shoes. They’ll work it out in the end. As for me, I get more space than anybody else in that car. After all, I wouldn’t want to crinkle my new coat. And I certainly hope we don’t get any more grief from those French poodles on the border like we did last time. I felt a little discriminated against, I must admit. Why do humans get it so easy to cross the border and I have more paperwork than a high-yield bond issue. I guess I shouldn’t complain. I was kind of a bad ass in Lisbon. I guess my reputation caught up with me on the border.

I hear foot steps in the hallway, so I better go. A big Merry Christmas to my Leicester faves – Aunt Julia (who gave me a Christmas outfit), Uncle Checho (who always gives me back rubs) and Jack the handy man (with his doggy treats). Can’t wait to see my dogfather Tomas and my best bud Buddy in Lisbon. Signing out with a paw-tograph – BOTOX.

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