Hi Nice Friends!
My Daddy today was reading from the grey pieces of paper that in the place called Japan that is far away, sometimes dogs are asked for in the color of blue, or of a size that is smaller than dogs are really supposed to be. That does not stop these dogs from happening, though, because people who wear the science lab coats enjoy how money looks and how it can buy them even more science lab coats. Who does not enjoy this is the dogs who get created when the brother and sister dogs are made to have pants-off time together, because sometimes these dogs come out with only one eye, or with bones that suddenly just go away.
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/28/business/28dogs.html
TOKYO, Dec. 27 — Care for a Chihuahua with a blue hue? Or how about a teacup poodle so tiny it will fit into a purse — the canine equivalent of a bonsai?The Japanese sure do.
Rare dogs are highly prized here, and can set buyers back more than $10,000. But the real problem is what often arrives in the same litter: genetically defective sister and brother puppies born with missing paws or faces lacking eyes and a nose.
It is probably just nicer for everyone and also dogs if people can maybe just let themselves be happy even if their dog is colored like a normal dog, or cannot fit in their pockets. Because even though I am a small whippet dog and don't always know a lot of things, a thing I am sure is true is that everyone should probably be allowed to have all of their eyes.
xoxoMorgane
Gentle Readers,
I would like to mention, on this Eve of the Boxes and the Plates of Cookies Left Out, that I have strived every day, in all the ways a Wolfhound can, to be as Good as possible, and I can only hope that Mr. S. Claus of Pole North will keep up his end of the bargain. If you should like for me to specify some instances, they would include the non-bitery of several size-small humans who seemed inclined to utilize my majestic tail as their plaything, countless occasions upon which I forewent the immediate relief of floor-poopery and opted instead for my Daddy to come home and administer walkies, my constant surveillance for squirrels that would, if given half a chance, divest us of all possessions decorative and edible, and my alerting of Daddy on the occasion of critical changes in smells and sounds above and below his human perceptory range.
It has been said that Mr. S. Claus can determine when all and sundry creatures are in a state of alertness or slumber, and it is my most fervent wish that his obvious conclusion that I, Mordred T. Dog, am ever-vigilant, watchful, and in need of only the most minute amount of eye-rest, and that my efforts will be thusly rewarded. Ideally with a soft toy of the squeaky persuasion, or perhaps some ham.
Yours, festively,
Mordred T. Dog
Hi Nice Friends!
Well golly. Now that Mr. Mordred has gotten all brave about how much he loves butter and that nice Miss India Chihuahua-Husky (I've met her as well, and I agree that she smells almost as yummy as Daddy's hamper!), it just might be time for me to put on my brave-girl pants. No, silly – I'm not talking about not hiding under the dresser when Daddy runs the carpet steamer (though that does frighten the kibble right out of me), I'm talking about taking a big, scary chance on something I have wanted to do ever since I was just a tiny little whippet puppy: I want to be one of Mr. Santa's Christmastime reindeers.
Sometimes when Daddy goes away, he leaves the television machine on for Mr. Mordred and me, 'cause he knows that Al Roker makes us feel safe and warm, and all anyone seems to be talking about is Mr. Santa and his bag full of eggnog and video game machines. I could help him! I am skinny, and have spots like a pretty reindeer, and I can run really, really fast for a long time so everyone can get their Christmastime packages, and I can get petted by awake, new friends from all over the world! I even heard that sometimes there are cookies left out and I really like cookies, but I wouldn't be selfish – I would save a whole bunch of them for Mr. Mordred who is big and handsome but can't run quite as fast as I can, and doesn't look like a deer.
I know that it is cold at the North Pole, but our Mommy Girl just brought me a new, fuzzy leopard coat that matches hers, and I would do almost anything for lots and lots of pettings and shareable cookies.
If I fall asleep in Daddy's Jeep and wake up in the snowy place again, I will find a deer and ask her if she can help me apply for the job. In exchange, I will ask Mr. Mordred not to bark at any of her friends for several days. This will be very hard for Mr. Mordred, as it is one of his most favorite hobbies, but he will do it for the love of both me and cookies.
Cross your paws for me!
xoxoMorgane The Christmastime Whippet
p.s. Tell me what you want all your two-legged and four-friends to have for the holidays, and I will whisper it in Mr. Santa's ear.
Hi nice friends!
When you are a dog who is mighty and tall like Mr. Mordred, it is possible and easy to find snacks in more places than when you are a dog who is lower down like I am. That is except when Daddy is nice enough to turn snack getting into a secret game between me and him, which must be what he wants to do when he puts things that I can sniff into places that I can get to if I jump from a thing onto another higher up thing and then open it using my nose and paws. He pretends that this is a thing he does not want me to do, but that is just to make the game more fun and exciting.
Mr. Mordred is also very fun about snack-sharing, because while he is enjoying something delicious, he will let parts of it fall me-ward off his face so that I can have deliciousness, too. This is a very nice thing of him, because not everyone thinks about the little dogs when they are snacking. But they sure would notice if all of a sudden we stopped helping and parts of snacks that fell on the floor stayed there! I would do that to show them, but I probably think that my love of the snacks would make me forget to.
xoxoMorgane
Gentle Readers,
I ask you - is there any phrase in the English language more beautiful than "bacon-scented bubbles"? I thought not.
M.T.D.
Hi nice friends!
A nice thing about being a dog who has a blog on the interweb machine is that sometimes other dogs write to us because they have things to say! This is a massage from our new friend Earl who is a Basset Hound!
My Appearance Belies My Rosy Attitude and Supreme Intelligence
I would first like to thank my good friend Morgane for giving me a platform to tell the world how wrong they’ve been about me. I realize my long face and sad eyes cry out to the world, “Get this hound some doggie Prozac!” However, I couldn’t need it less. I’m perhaps the happiest dog you’ll ever meet. People assume as well that I must be of lower sagacity, due to the fact that I often trip over my ears when I walk. Well I don’t know if you noticed but I just used the word sagacity-and I didn’t even have to consult a thesaurus (it means intelligence). I’m actually up this week for membership in Canis Mensa!
I just want to shout to the world how rosy my view on life truly is. I feel that the best way to do that, especially on this blog, is to submit to you a poem, entitled:
“Everybody’s Wrong”
I’m not sad nor am I depressed
Behind these jowls lay a smile suppressed
Although my voice is better suited for singing the blues
The rainbow of my soul can express all hues
I don’t jump for joy with vigor and vim
But that’s cause I only have five-inch limbs!
I can get sad and I CAN get hurt
When you smirk behind my back that I’m as dumb as dirt
Why oh why do people think I’m dumb?
I’d write a letter telling them otherwise, but I have no thumbs
I realize that historically hounds are hard to train
But that’s not the result of a diminutive brain
I have so many thoughts running through my head
Like what’s that smell? And is it time for bed?
And did you know that blue birds can’t see blue?
And that men get the hiccups more than women do?
I’ve a wealth of knowledge and am a great party guest
And my smile can fill your heart if it you put me to the test
Thanks for reading this everybody and next time you see me around town, know that I’m just like you - happy and filled with the knowledge that the world is a beautiful place. Until next time,
-Earl Droop
If you like what Mr. Earl has to say, go and say hi to him on the friendly message boards! He is nice and smart, and has enough ears for everyone to kiss and play with!
xoxoMorgane
Hi Nice Friends!
While I so very much enjoy being everyone's happy-time and nice party dog, 
sometimes I get tired and it is fun to let another dog be that dog. It makes me very happy to get the report from Daddy and our Mommy Girl that a Very Good Labrador colored black named Jarvin did a super fine and wonderful job at being a Party Dog last night where they were.
Some person or other dog had taught him the skills of laying in the middle of the everything so as to maximize petting for himself by people, and also that a dog who does not take things for himself from the snack table, but rather instead looks at it like he wants to ends up getting many nice treats delivered to him in hands which then pet his head. When a dog doesn't do that, then it makes it that the rest of us at our parties get put in other rooms or yards or not at home for the nights when our Daddies and Mommy Girls have parties, so we all thank you, Mr. Jarvin for being good at it!
xoxoMorgane
Gentle Readers,
It is my duty as resident News Hound to share with you a shocking tale of miscommunication and dampening, as related to Miss Morgane and me by our youthful Upstate New York colleague, Miss Sophie Von Puppington. Miss Sophie, a Chesapeake Bay Retriever graciously shares her quarters with a pair of small-sized humans, the smaller of whom has yet to fully master either English or Retrieverese. It would seem that this language rift recently manifested in an incident wherein our Miss Sophie, performing her requisite floor sentry duties in the kitchen – protecting the tiles so that they should not be sullied by falling scraps of delicious food – was subjected to a icy deluge from above!
As Miss Sophie spluttered and attempted to shake the dampness from her sumptuous pelt, she heard her Mommy Lady ask the small human why he had upturned a drinking glass upon the loyal family pet. His answer – "Gog, mama! Watergog!" It would seem that the young lad misinterpreted Miss Sophie's breed's proud tradition of water dog-dom as a need for said pup to be watered.
Miss Sophie has been generous enough to allow for said incident to stand as a teaching moment in the annals of inter-species communication, and for this display of patience, she has my unfailing respect. I can only posit that had this happened on my watch, there would have been a considerable lot more harrumping and knockery over of things.
Yours,
M.T.D.
Hi Nice Friends!
There was one time (and one time only - I promise, because I don't want you to be scared that this is an all the time thing) that I decided to try science to see what it would be like to be not a nice little dog, but instead a mean one. Oh, I tell you I put on the growliest face I possibly could and squinched up my eyes and turned to Daddy to see if he screamed and ran away. Rather instead he started laughing so hard that he almost fell off the couch where we were curled up together watching The Law & The Order.
I am not good at being bad, and that, I think, is probably pretty good. At least I think.
xoxoMorgane
Gentle Readers,
While I have heard that the subject of firearms is one that brings great consternation to many people of the human persuasion, the SnackShotz is the only such device that is certain to deliver a bullet-load of yum with delicious accuracy.
That is to say that the SnackShotz is a little gun that shoots dog treats, and I am willing to wager that if a mommy or a daddy got one for their very well-behaved and loyal pet hound, said hound would quite likely express a great deal of gratitude via the medium of face-licks and happy tail thumps.
I am, of course, just speculating. And perhaps drooling just a little tiny bit.
M.T.D.
Gentle Readers,
I come to you today a troubled hound - somewhat dogged, if you will. Or even if you will not, I am still most concerned about the current journalistic bent in favor of canines sized “cute”, as evidenced by a recent article in the Grey Colored Paper about the prevalence of small, dressable dogs as fashion accessories.
Woman’s Best Friend, or Accessory?Paige is what is known as a sleeve dog, an emblem of status since antiquity. Once toted by fashionable women inside the folds of their gowns, diminutive pets have been the favorites of nobles from Marie Antoinette to Elizabeth II. The pseudo-royals of Hollywood also favor them, actresses and gossip-column fixtures like Tori Spelling and Mickey Rourke.
Now, thanks in part to their red carpet visibility, compact breeds are more popular than ever. “We're seeing a nationwide trend toward smaller dogs,” said Niki Marshall Friedman, a spokeswoman for the American Kennel Club. For example, registration of the Brussels griffon has gone up 231 percent in the last 10 years; Norwich terrier registration has risen 91 percent.
Flaunted as fashion statements, pint-sized canines are, to some minds, the fur-bearing equivalent of a pair of Louboutin pumps or other accessory.
Harrumph, I say! I, Mordred T. Dog am many things - elegant, stately, majestic, imposing, damp, but “diminutive” is never a term that could be ascribed to my generously proportioned frame, and thus “cute” is out of the question. Knitters of adorable dogwear leave noble beasts of my dimensions out in the proverbial cold - no darling bee costumes or lamb-soft, fetching sweaters for us, just our own luxurious pelts between us and the elements. And I challenge you to find a gown sleeve that could contain my stately bulk. I have resigned myself to a lifetime status as a non-totable dog, but must our very own Dog Show USA hop on the chow wagon as well? I note that the presence of a “Cutest Dog” category, but whither one for “Awesomest” or “Most Splendid” or “My Goodness, How Stately!”? Again - harrumph.
In protest, I will now consume several pieces of unattended ham.
Yours, grumpily and largely,
Mordred T. Dog - Irish Wolfhound at VERY Large
Gentle Readers,
A most curious thing has come to pass, and I, Mordred T. Dog, am as yet hard-pressed to find an explanation. As you may recall, earlier this year, a vicious band of marauding squirrels relocated the possessions of my Daddy, Morgane and me, as well of those of the 
Girl Who Sits Close to Daddy On the Couch but who is now our All the Time Mommy Girl from our various domiciles in various burrows to a magical land called Brooklyn. It would seem that it was just phase one of their campaign, however, as the squirrels then only relocated indoor possessions, such as couches, plates, and rather some fetching/delicious footwear.
They have intensified their strategy. It would seem that while I was in the other room very briefly resting my ever-vigilant eyes so that they might most optimally protect my family pack, the squirrels relocated some manner of fragrant, cone-shaped tree from the out-of-doors to the in-of-doors. More specifically, directly in front of the parlor window from which I do some of my most effective observery. And that was not the end of their cruel bedeviling – far from it. So as to ensure that their machinations would not escape our notice, they not only garishly bedecked the tree with various sparkly and/or glowy objects – but also festooned it with bulbs attached to our home's electrical sockets to produce an unmissable twinking light.
I need hardly tell you that I will neither be standing nor sitting for this sort of rodential mischief, and as soon as Daddy and our Mommy Girl are away from our home (I can tell that our Mommy Girl was most thoroughly upset by its appearance, for her face produced the salty water and she clung close to Daddy as they looked upon it.), I shall enlist Miss Morgane’s assistance in rending the horrible thing limb from sparkly limb.
This is just the sort of thing for which Daddy retains my services, and I am most happy to oblige him.
Most vigilantly and splendidly yours,
Mordred T. Dog
Hi nice friends!
This is Mazzie, your new friend who should be coming home with you soon so you can feed her delicious 
things and let her be quiet and warm and have love around her all the time. I don't know why, but not every dog gets to have an all the time and always home with a Mommy Girl or a Daddy like Mr. Mordred and I do, and very big-hearted and many-dog-cuddling people like Earth Angels NYC find dogs like Mazzie, and give them a place to be so Santa Claus and Anderson Cooper can always know where to find them. Sometimes maybe that place could be your house!
I bet if you got to know Mazzie, she would find ways to be cute specifically for you. Like if it make you happy to have a dog who was cute when she slept or wore hats, she would probably do that for you. If it was more about being cute while eating or sometimes cuddling with toys, Mazzie would practice that until she got it right and you loved her.
And it is very nice being loved by a dog — no matter from where you find her, but extra much so if it is a dog who needs a home because she doesn't have one.
xoxoMorgane
Gentle readers,
Over the past year, I have made no secret of my love for the arts both performative and literary, and in fact have shared with you several bits of doggerel from my forthcoming volume of poetical musings, “Heaves of Grass”. Therefore, it should come as no great surprise to readers that my Daddy considers me his go-to dog when he arrives home from some art-seeing and wishes to have a critical discussion/his feet licked.
It would seem that he and our Mommy Girl took in a not-especially tasty morsel of Artistic Theater the other evening wherein a fuzzily-faced young man had the very large gall to pretend to be a dog for fifteen minutes. I believe that all two-leggers should indeed at some point aspire to understand the world from our eye-level, but to do so, and not lick a single face? To nap at no point, contemplate not the raising of a leg on unfamiliar objects, sniff nary a hindquarter, and sit uninterested in the exploration of the nearby cupcake plate? For shame, and I thump my tail crankily at the slop of his craft.
To scamper about on all fours, beg for goldfish crackers and lean upon various pant legs is just to be a rather ordinary toddler-sized human person. There is method and art to a Genuine Dog’s sniffery, discretion in our leaning partners, and an almost overwhelming interest in the tail sections of all manner of creatures – no matter their leg count. We seek to learn the world (not to mention the delicious treats contained therein) with our nose parts, and to not understand that is to not understand what it is to be Dog.
Should any two-legged citizens of the world seek to hone their dog-being craft, I am offering a two-day intensive workshop entitled “Nose Knows: On Peeing and Snuffingness”. It will be held in the alley behind A&S Pork on 5th Avenue in the Brooklyn, and the price of admission is cake.
Yours,
M.T.D.
