On the heels (or as Lady Emma's Great Great Uncle, Commodore Emerson Horatio
Hindblower, a ship's dog in her majesty's navy, used to say "on the aft paws--
yowr") of the success of our new Tuesday feature, PORTRAITS IN FURRAGE, comes
our new Wednesday feature-- LADY EMMA'S DIARY. Here is the first installment:
Dear Diary:
My dad, Roger B. Calistro, is the most wonderful creature in the world. Every
morning he opens up my crate, and lets me bound off into the sunshine, and feeds
me, and then rubs my belly, which he calls "veneration of the pooch". So this
is hardly the forum for criticism. But to be honest, Diary, I have a few
complaints. First-- while it is true that every morning he lets me out of my
crate, every night he sticks me into it. What's that about? What am I, a wild
animal that has to be caged! I have half a mind to report him to PETME, except
of course I am not a mole, nor am I Edward. Second, while he lets me bound off
into the sunshine, that's only if the sun is shining. Some mornings it isn't
you know-- some mornings it is raining, or damp, or snowing, or freezing cold,
and I am still expected to bound off, as if I didn't have a care in the world.
Well I do have cares, Dear Diary. I worry about the economy. I worry about
Edward. I worry about breakfast, lunch and dinner. Which leads me to my third
complaint. Breakfast. Every day, every morning, every evening, without
exception, I am expected to eat dog food. Diary, do you know what dog food
tastes like? It tastes like dog food. I don't see Mr. Roger B. Calistro, the
so called most wonderful creature in the world, eating dog food. I don't see
you, Dear Diary, eating dog food. How about a little variety. Maybe a tuna
salad.. Or how about rubbing a little peanut butter on a steak now and then.
Which brings me to my fourth complaint, this so-called veneration of the pooch.
Big deal, my tummy gets rubbed. By the same guy responsible for the removal of
my ovaries!. For this I am supposed to be grateful?
Well don't get me wrong, Diary. I look around at the other dogs in the
household, and I realize how lucky I am. Oh wait. There are no other dogs in
this household! There are only cats! Cats every freaking where I look. I lie
down on the comfy papasan chair in the kitchen, the next thing you know I have
two cats crowding me out. See photos attached. I mean, don't get me wrong. I
love my cats. I love my dad. But please, Diary, spare me the B.S. You think
it's so great being me, you try eating dog food every day of your life.
Yours, Lady Emma
Editor's Note: This is not what the CPR was expecting to hear from Lady Emma.
Future installments will most certainly see a somewhat more cheery chronicle of
life at 540 Paddock Avenue.. Otherwise the name of this feature may be changed
from "Lady Emma's Diary" to "Miss Libbys Diary"
Sponsored by Purina Dog Chow. Stop complaining and eat.
