I have a pet. He is a dog and he is on his fourth name change. First, he was named Schroeder, after Charlie Brown's sensitive piano-playing chum. But he wasn't as calm as I imagined him to be - I'm a cat person - so I renamed him Mick Jagger - to give him a rock and roll edge. Then he started to became really interested in fashion - I figured - because he kept chewing up my shoes (which explains my latest shoe-shopping craze, it's the dog's fault). So, you know what is next - he became Tom Ford. But then, just today, I heard that Snoop Dogg was designing fashion for doggies. And how cool is that? While I may be New Wave at heart, I just adore Snoop. He is the black person's John Wayne - coolness, gangsta-style.
With this new development, I called Mav this morning and excitedly told her that we had to change the little doggie's name. And she replied, "You having a dog named Snoop, is like me in leggings."
Nonetheless, I am considering Mr. Gin N. Juice. Or Huggy Bear. Because I am sick of the fashion designer moniker. I can't tell you how many Chanel's and Coco's we meet at the dog park. I am a slave to my dog, not fashion. And Tom Ford is getting sick of the little shirts, but he will always wear shoes. Hey, Britney is wearing them now. So I am going to go with Gin N. Juice for the moment.
Holy identity issues. But since Gin N. Juice is imaginary - very much like my niece's "friend", Binky, who one time got "stuck" in the sun roof, in which instance my dad apologized, opened the roof back up, and pulled Binky to safety and then we told Binky to wear his seat belt in the car for now on.
He was Elvis for Halloween. Look at this picture:
Isn't he the cutest thing?
Right about now, if I still have your attention, you might wonder what kind of dog he is. Well, first he was a Frenchie, and he was Martini's dog, Milo's, boyfriend. Milo is a girl and the kind of dog that you have to take for walks and skip happy hour for. I know! That kind of dog.
Mr. Juice is a special kind of dog. He can hold it in for weeks. In fact, sometimes I just plum forget about him. First, he was a chihuahua, then he was a poodle or something with long hair so I could braid it and ponytail it. But now he is an Italian greyhound. And the funny thing is I just did an Internet search for Italian Greyhounds and found a local group. (I know how this sounds and I know what you must be thinking: Seriously, she is taking this imaginary dog thing a bit far! Sure, crazy people, I am taking Gin on a playdate!) Seriously, I was researching the breed because some day Mr. Juice can be a reality and, weirdly, I found a guy I used to date who happens to be a member of the local IG group. He has two. And, yes, the kind of dog you have to take for walks and skip happy hour for.
And so in the words of Fred Scheider and the B-52's*:
Has anybody seen
A dog died dark green?
About two inches tall
With a strawberry blond ball.
Sunglasses and a bonnet
Designer jeans with appliques on it.
Sadly, the dog that brought Fred Schneider so much joy, Quiche Lorraine ran away.
Are you still there, reader? Great! We will be at Earth shortly.
According to Fred, even imaginary dogs can run away - because clearly he made this little doggie up (the sunglasses clued me in). Why would you do this to your fantasy? Not me. In my fantasy, this loyal Gin N. Juice AKA Huggy Bear I speak of, dog or no dog, never leaves....
*B-52's, "Quiche Lorraine" off of the Wild Planet album. (You: That is some Wild Planet alright.)