Much has changed my friends. A year ago I fought a battle with my own body. This year my living quarters have been upgraded, I now have VIP access to many of the high class bitches that were not present in Logan Square (mostly older Latinas or Polish women with horribly dyed hair). Yes my friends, I now reside next door to paradise. The Wicker Park dog park. You name it and I have grazed upon it, licked it, attempted to jump up on it. Short blonde shiny bobs, long unkept tangled hair, long luxurious legs, yes friends, I have it all. And yes, I have a poor excuse for a wingman but nevertheless he serves a purpose. A tall, grey, flopsy man with arthritis named Bosendorfer. He often serves the purpose of being the bane of my existence, but serves an integral role when I am playing the field so to speak. He could win a gold medal in the Olympics of being "that dog" at the park. Taking bear sized excrement, then kicking up stones that hit fellow park goers, peeing on anything that moves, etc. I must admit, I feel bad for the poor man, I fear that he is senile. Often I walk out in the kitchen just to find him staring absently at the refrigerator. There is also the issue of him being a German dog of a Jewish owner, this has caused many rumblings from the old man. All in all despite the old curmudgeon known as Mr. Dorfer, perfection is being served to me on a platter daily of all beautiful shapes and sizes, and it is all mine, yes mine to take. Despite my past obstacles, my gold has not been stolen, one paw in front of the next, forward, I see nothing but good ahead.
