They'll never know

I am at my Nemesis’ house. Everyone is gone. They locked me in the bathroom, again. Luckily, I planned ahead, and hid my iPup tablet under some towels. It’s my only source of stimulation at this point. I am thankful for the wifi here.

My Master planned a reunion for Halloween this year. She had several of her friends (and mine) come down to Chicago from Minneapolis, in addition to my uncle Matt, who came from Milwaukee. My Master and I arrived at My Nemesis’ house on Thursday night. During the day on Friday, My Master was goodly enough to clean up the craphole of a house My Nemesis calls home, in preparation for all her friends coming to stay the weekend. It made his living conditions so much more palatable, and since the house was so nasty to begin with, I had ample time to discuss the housing trust I’ve been working on with my cousin.

Seeing My Master’s friends was so lovely. These people, they are like family to me. I’ve known them my entire life, they’ve all taken care of me before, and shared in my triumphs, setbacks, and life course thus far. Even Jessica, although she “plays” so rough with my ears, I cannot help but love her. Guy and Jake are like two uncles, they take me in when I come back to Minnesota, let me play with Eva, and are such kind people. And my uncle Matt was there, too. I’ve stayed with him before, he’s great. He lets me sleep on his huge soft bed, and usually leaves the trash precariously low and available.  

I saw all of them at home for awhile, then they went to eat, and My Nemesis went to meet some acronym person, J.B.R. or something. I assume this person has a real name, but who knows, he’s so stupid he probably talks to chairs, or garbage cans. I still don’t understand what My Master sees in him. I got locked in the bathroom, as per usual.

Why do they lock me in the bathroom, curious reader? The short answer is they are afraid of my majesty and power. The longer answer is that I have a problem. I’m not sure if it’s endemic to all members of my species, or just me, but one thing is clear: if there’s a garbage can nearby, I’m going to knock it over. I’ve never been a drug addict, despite spending time in multiple border towns during my youth. I saw too many of my compadres go down in flames in the Highlands of Chihuahua. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to resist temptation (I was one of the few who never invested in mortgage-backed securities, derivative products, and I never endorsed the credit default swap…lot of damned good it did me, taking down the whole market…).

Despite seeing the evils of drugs, and being steadfast in my resolve…I just don’t know…but put a garbage can in front of me, and it’s almost as if I become possessed by some otherworldly force. We watched quite a few Halloween movies this weekend; I swear it’s as if another being takes control of me when I see the garbage can. There is no “you must kill mommy and daddy,” but there is a resounding “JOIN US, Smokenstein. We are filled with goodies. Your Master will be OK with it, don’t worry, KNOCK ME OVER and JOIN US.”

So in effort to save me from myself, they lock me in the bathroom. It sucks. I hate it. Luckily, this time, I have my iPup, so all is not lost.

But that is not the point. Friday night, after they returned from the bar, wasted, they let me out. I normally am left free to run at night, but I usually just stay in bed with My Nemesis and Master, although my Master farts, and that’s gross. Last night, they attempted to block the stairs to the main floor of the house. They have tried this before, and I have, time after time, studied the details of the impediment (a large chair), trying to find it’s weakness. I may be small, but I’ve overcome all who’ve faced me thus far.

It was last night that I bested my latest foe. How did I do it? That is forever my secret. I do not doubt My Master and Nemesis have spies everywhere, they no doubt know of this blog, so those details shall go with me to the grave, of this I am sure.

I was successfully able to circumvent the chair, and succeeded in making my escape down the stairs. Free at last! It was dark and cold, although not as cold as it was upstairs. My Master and his two buffoon roommates have the thickest blood on earth, I swear. Their apartment/cave is always so cold. But no matter, I wasn’t down here for the warm sunny weather, I was down here to get my piece.

I quickly and silently performed recon. They had done well, almost as if they anticipated my arrival. The garbage cans were cleaned, the kitchen cabinet was battened down securely. I thought for a moment that I was doomed. I had gone all the way down, and although my baby puppy eyes are some of the best, it was quite dark, and turning on the lights would surely belie my presence.

I thought I was doomed, until I looked up and saw the pizza box. HaHA ! Victory was mine! While My Master may have gotten one, I remembered correctly that there had been two pizzas ordered, and one of the boxes was still laying out on the glass coffee table! Even better, it was at the edge of the table. With a quick yank, I pulled it down to the floor. The only reason I didn’t stop and yell out in joy was fear in waking the slumbering bear-men nearby. Silently, I removed the cover of the pizza box, smiling in anticipation.

It was fucking empty.

Inadvertently foiled, again. Not by My Nemesis’s careful planning, but by his sheer gluttony. This was not going to go unchallenged. If I had made it this far down, I was going to at least leave my piece. Had there been pizza in there, they would have concluded I’d been there when their precious pizza was missing. I resolved to leave my mark the only other way I could.

I shredded that damned pizza box for over an hour. I know I am small, but I've learned to compensate by sheer pluck, hard work, and determination. I took me awhile, I'll probably take a nap today, but I destroyed that box. The cover? Gone, turned into a mess of corrugated cardboard, grease stains and all.

I hope that someone woke up that next morning and cried for a moment, thinking I had eaten all their pizza. Perhaps no one did, as they’ve all left for the day, and I’ve yet to hear of it. Score one more point for Ole Smokenstein. Novelist. Playwright. Investor. Ninja.

Chocolate Covered French Fries

The weekend has been a success. I spent a lot of it writing and editing my new mystery novel. I have been struggling, the plot line seems generic, although originality is rare in our present society. I enjoyed a crisp salad from Rosebud on Saturday night that my Master left out for me. Anytime food is left in this container with rare contents in it,  it is known to everyone that the contents are mine. It always baffles me when other parties are angry with me for eating the contents that they do not want.

Anyway, in other news,  my Nemesis tried to win over my affections by buying me pig strips. It was a nice attempt, but I hope he realizes that I only eat things that are simple to lick and make soggy enough to take down in less than ten minutes.  Licking an object for more than ten minutes is a waste of my time. Licking salty feet are the only exception to this rule.  He did win some points with the treats he bought me. I do not blame him for his poor taste, the insolent old fool.

 I was lucky enough to try the greasy french fries from Five Guys dipped in creamy chocolate with chunks of peanut butter ice cream from Oberweiss. The combination was every flavor I most desire. I must now return to writing my novel. Deadline is coming up soon I fear.

A penny for your thoughts...

I was trying to sleep, as usual licking the sheets when I toss and turn, because it calms me and lets me get control of my thoughts ( I often hear complaints about this being that the radius that I lick can be quite large, but I do not see how anything could clean more than my saliva). I was having some profound thoughts, especially about my current neighborhood.

Everybody says that Logan Square is full of hipsters. I do not see this as much as I see Polish people that are atrocious at driving. There are so many Taquerias that you cannot throw a rock and miss one, but I feel an absence of the true nature of my homeland in these parts.  As far as tail goes around here, well I have seen a few lookers but nothing to make me stop, except a pack of Pomeranians that were skirting around the other day, and only because of my desire to have several women in my life.

Every time I leave to go to other neighborhoods such as Wicker Park, which certain parties claim don't have as much hipsters ( I disagree with this notion) I am glad to return to Logan Square. My neighborhood does not boast all of the trendiness and glam that people flock to Wicker Park for, but it is laid back, there are more trees, and trees with leaves on them and trunks that are thicker than my 10 lb body. I am more of a Logan Square kind of dog, it fits me well. I am home.

If anyone else feel like they are giving up all of their love for their neighborhood, please feel free to post. If I ever see you, I may give you a penny for your thoughts, or a licking.

My princess by the sea

Dear Sasha,

A few months ago, I left a hot bay that often looked like chocolate milk and smelt like dead birds in which I had called my home for four long years. Although close to my homeland of Chihuahua, not nearly close enough. And too many English speaking fools, not enough packs of Chihuahua's running wild in the hills like in the old days when 30 of us would take down a 39 lb Chupacabra with no hesitation.  I never did prefer the artery clogging Tex-Mex over the authentic food of my homeland.  Anyway, you were part of my life for a year and a half of those four arduous years in the most important ways.
 Although you were of different kind and not the preferable kind, you were the peanut butter chewy of my eye. Long, gray, fur, you never did like doing your hair. You walked around the flat that we lived in with a confidence I could not ignore.  Although you would never give me the time of day, I am sure I caught your attention. Many a night while licking my paws clean I noticed you around the corner watching me with clear intent, wondering. Our interactions were limited, but my love for you grew, as it grew for you unruly owner, who often left tidbits such as cranberry supplements out for me to test.
(Side note, I did test those out, My owner was not happy with the results, although I was. I was meaning to go to the doctor for my first colonoscopy, but I did not feel the need to after those pills, to this I owe you. Who cares if the results was a dark brown liquid excrement on the white carpeting of My Master's floor? I heard you got the deposit back.)
We left that hot day in June for Chicago. I barely even got to say goodbye. I know you are out there, your beauty and indifference shining a light on someone else's soul. I know that many men have been through your apartment, and I could never expect to have a real chance with you, but I want you to know that my tiny little heart beats a trillion beats a second when I think of your sharp intellect, and your sharp tongue.