Tuesday, July 10, 2007

My old mini me

I'm a little freaked right now because I came face to face with myself...in ten dog years. Mom gets horrible news everyday about my old cell mates on death row and last week, my double, my own Dorian Gray, my old mini me, was sitting at West Valley waiting for someone to bail him out or else.

Mom's friends went and got him outta there, where they were going to kill him and then we went to Brentwood, to my friend Harry Sax's house to meet him.

It was weird for me because when I looked at him, I saw what it was like to get old. His eyes and nose were runny and he smelled like a an old can of sardines with flies all over it. I was wondering if I wasn't face to face with my biological grandpa. You never know. The idiots who used to beat me up and dumped me at the pound might have bought me from the dummies who dumped grandpa.

He's ugly but Mom thinks he's cute.
Mom: "Look at him! He's adorable! Poor guy, nobody's going to adopt a seventeen year old dog. How can people be so cruel to dump him at this age?"
Mom was trying like crazy to get him accepted into a really nice place in Utah, sort of like a super fancy hotel/restaurant/hospital/ with lots of warm cozy places to sit around and get spoiled. The place is called Best Friends.
I guess it worked because yesterday, Grandpa came up to the house to eat all my treats and then our friend Jen came over and drove him to the big cozy place in Utah.
I'm kind of glad he's gone to the Utah cozy place where he has lots of fans because if he was going to hang around here, it would have been like being forced to look at myself in a funhouse mirror all day long...my teeth all rotted out, my eyes all cloudy and an old poop dangling from old hairs around my butt.

Besides, you can't hang around in Hollywood when you get old. That's why Mom and Dad want to move to France before they become incontinent.

There he is, in the car on the way to Utah and in his hotel bed. Dogs are way smarter than people, we know how to be happy!


Thursday, July 05, 2007

BrokeBark Mountain

Lambster has been here for months now in a "foster" situation that has turned into a very European three-way arrangement between my wife Finley and me.

We are both attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? He's gorgeous, young, with white teeth, a pink butt and a little button tail that never stops wagging. The only thing that stops is my heart...whenever he walks by.

I sure wish I could quit you Lamby. We've got a problem.

The other day when we were on our walk with Mom and Dad by the Starbucks on Ventura Boulevard, Lamby and I were circling the same Sycamore tree because Mom had us on that stupid double leash, which gets us all tangled up. I got a golden stream of Lamb juice right in the side of my mouth. Mom freaked.

Mom: "Oh my God! Look! Lamby pissed right into Jinky's mouth! That's so disgusting. I can't believe it, the side of his mouth is all yellow."

Dad laughed and then by the time we got to the next tree pee stop, I got Lamby back good.

Mom: (Laughing) "Jinky peed on Lamby's head! It looks like a winter pee in the snow! The two of them look like they just came out of a leather bar in the meat packing district of lower Manhattan! All they need is chaps."

I thought we looked cool.

I like the fact that Lamby's got that white fluffy afro because I can always tell what he's been doing. I can tell when he's been chewing on the deck boards by the pool, because the wood stain (Ebony) gets all over his mouth and tongue. And right now, I know that he and Dad were sharing a peanut butter sandwich because there's a whole bunch of melted Skippy creamy stuff matted into his neck, where he can't get it. He looks hot with the peanut butter stain. Sort of like a supermodel with ketchup on his chin.

Finley and I will lick it off because our marriage is so Euro.

Mom and Dad were supposed to take us to Nice, France, Europe on Monday but we got delayed on account of Dad's network pitch. Dad's trying to squeeze the remaining drop of rancid juice out of his career and meet with some TV dummies before we go.

Mom was supposed to go to NY for a meeting about a role on a new show but they've got offers out to people more famous than Mom. So now it looks like we'll be going to NY for an entirely different reason: my squirrel hunting trip to Central Park. Plus, the flight to France is so long and we can't pee on the plane, so Mom and Dad HAVE to stop in NY, so we can pee at Grandma's and in Central Park.

I'm sort of glad to be getting out of Hollywood for a few months but Lamby can't come with us and I'm going to cry. He'll be happy with his other Mom and Dad in Westwood but I'm sure gonna miss him while we're gone.

I'd like to meet you somewhere up in the mountains Lamby and we could fight off coyotes together, just you and me, wrestling from morning 'til sunset. I could lean on your soft white afro and nuzzle you all night long, your sweet young peanut butter breath in my ear.

I sure wish I could quit you Lamby.