PINKIE

THE COLD

2011-01-31T08:48:00.001-08:00

TOBY IN THE SNOW

I,Pinkie, do not like the cold. I'm sitting on my nice warm bed with my best friend Toby looking out of the window. It's all white.

I remember the warm days, when I was on the walkway eating worms, now there is a great memory. How about when Kate took us to the beach and Toby and I got away? Great Fun! Toby was bound and determined to swim. Hey,Toby you sink like a stone, dude!
Ah, memories of spring and summer.

Today it will be more of the same: looking out of the window, sleeping, eating, and the occasional dash outside to....you know. Sometimes the sun comes out and totally fools me. I think, its warm again, but no, its not. My only inspiration is my food. Once I eat, all inspiration is gone. Back to bed and the window and the white, to sleep, perchance to dream of warm days and nights.

-- Brought to you by Pinkie's b.f.f. and guest blogger, Eileen Hurley!

THE ART OF WRITING

2010-10-30T10:52:00.000-07:00

One of my rules of paw is -- keep it short.

Brevity is the soul of wit, right?

First thing in the morning

when I go into my office,

I remind myself --

be concise,

to the point.

That’s my style.

Hunting and pecking

with two claws is slow going.

The fewer words, the better.
Whoa, look how many words
it took for me to say
keep it short.

FAREWELL, FISHER

2010-10-17T07:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, my friend Fisher left this world. Toby and I will really miss that dog.

Fisher lived with our Auntie Eileen, who takes care of us when Kate and Jim are away. As far as Eileen could tell, he was part Lab and part Weimaraner. She called him a Labaraner, and said he had the best qualities of both.

Most dogs aren’t big on sharing. Even I, Pinkie, don’t like to share. But when dogs came to Fisher’s house, he let them chew his bones and play with his toys, and he just looked the other way.

Eileen always said Fisher had a gait like a Tennessee Walking Horse. And he could run like the wind. He ran until the day before he died.

Eileen says he went fast, just like he did everything in his life. She buried him overlooking a creek with things he loved: tennis balls, a tomato, a strawberry and a marrow bone.

Farewell, Fisher! Wherever you are, I hope there’s an endless field and you’re out there, running.

FALL IS IN THE AIR

2010-10-13T13:41:00.000-07:00

Standing here with Toby

looking at this tree makes me feel

like waxing poetic:

Falling leaves, orange and red,

An ordinary tree becomes extraordinary.

Leaves turning from green to gold.

Leaves as light as the breeze become roaring bonfires.

How was that? Please don’t call it doggerel.

GEORGE McMULLAN, ONE FINE CAT

2010-09-26T15:06:00.000-07:00

Our friend George died last Thursday. He ate a big breakfast, purred beside Kate as she read the paper, then stretched out on the foot of a bed and never woke up. Kate and Jim say it was a peaceful way to go, but so sudden it was a shock. They are a mess.

When George arrived at the McMullan's, he was a little thing, but his personality was strong, even then. Jim wanted to name him Hector. But Leigh started calling him George, and the name fit.

George was only thirteen when he died , but he was a hefty one, so maybe that's what did him in. That boy loved his kibble. George was a looker, but he had brains, too, and kept up with the latest books.

George loved licking Jim's cereal bowl. He loved snuggling with Leigh and Kate. He loved spreading out his large body in a passageway and looking at Toby and me as if daring us to try to get by. I usually made a run for it, but Toby mostly waited for a human to escort him by George the Terrible.

George didn't like closed doors, visiting dogs, visiting humans, or the vet. Getting him into a cat carrier was all but impossible, so he had a house-call vet, and the vet always brought along an assistant to help handle George. More than once, the assistant was bleeding and bandaged when she left, and Kate slipped her 'combat pay.' It was never a good idea to mess around with George.

When Kate and Jim found George on the foot of the bed last Thursday, they wrapped him in a soft towel. Kate held him and cried and cried while Jim dug a hole in the backyard, and they buried him beside three other McMullan cats, Annie, Groucho, and Wendy. This is the first time in thirty-five years that Kate and Jim haven't had a cat.

The day George died, there was such sadness in our house. Toby wouldn't take treats and he moped around like he'd lost his best friend. I managed to eat my treats, but I felt the same way.

We all miss you, Georgie.

George McMullan

LEARN TO DRAW!

2010-09-23T04:32:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned that I live with Jim McMullan, the famous illustrator? Yep, I do. Jim has started a twelve-part blog about the art of drawing for The New York Times.

In his first posting, he says that drawing helps develop the eye to see more acutely. I wish I could draw, but it's hard to hold a pencil or a pen without
thumbs. (See paw below)

.

Still, if I could draw, maybe I could see food more acutely when it falls on the floor.
If you have thumbs, check it out!

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/category/line-by-line/

BULLDOG RECOMMENDS...

2010-09-16T07:11:00.000-07:00

I like to have a book in front of me,

and a shelf of others beside me

so I know the supply will not run out.

There's nothing like a book to take one

far away.

What am I reading now? you ask.

A book about French bulldogs.

It's fascinating!

It doesn't take me far away, you say?

Okay, it's more of an interior journey.

I recommend it!

MY FRIEND FISHER

2010-09-07T13:24:00.000-07:00

My friend Fisher came over to visit this afternoon.

Handsome, isn't he?

Our conversation went along these lines:

Me: “Hi, Fisher. What have you been up to?”

Him: “Chasing squirrels. September is a good month for squirrels.

They’re all over the place gathering acorns. Any new cats in the neighborhood?”

Me: “George is the only cat I’ve seen today. He’s so old he hardly counts.”

Him: “Cats always bring out the dog in me.”

Fisher is what I like in a guy. He has a great cookie-giving mom, and he's mature, charming, and fixed. (Hey, he's good looking, but I've already had three litters!)

[photo credit TK]

POWER DOG

2010-08-31T15:04:00.000-07:00

I’ll confess. I have a crush on Bo.

Yes, I know, he's much younger than I am.

Counting in dog years -- don't even go there!

He's a Portuguese Water Dog, I'm a French Land pooch.

He's black-and-white, I'm blond.

Okay, we don't have that much in common,

but, hey, he lives in the White House.

He gets to hang around with

Barrack, Michelle, Malia and Sasha.

And he vacations on Martha’s Vineyard.

Can you blame me? What’s not to adore?

PINKIE READS

2010-08-24T13:16:00.000-07:00

Did you know that I do volunteer work in the community?

That's right. I'm a Reading Dog. Okay, I don't actually read, but kids read to me, so it's pretty much the same thing. I have big ears, so I'm a good listener. This is an important trait for a Reading Dog. When kids read to me it helps them develop confidence in their reading skills. And it helps me hear good stories.

My favorite book? Anything about Fluffy, the Classroom Guinea Pig.

Oh, and The Wizard of Oz.

Here's my favorite line: “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more.”

GREEN A LA PINK

2010-08-21T11:26:00.000-07:00

Last week-end the New York Times had a headline:

In Weather Chaos, A Case for Global Warming

As you know this is a big concern of mine.

I’m taking proactive steps.

For example I never ride in the car alone.

I always take Kate with me.

This week-end the Wall Street Journal has an article about building a Green House.

I have the ultimate green house.

I moved into an already existing house when I adopted Kate and Jim.

And I don’t use air conditioning.

When I want to get cool, I eat ice cream.

Strawberry.

It’s Pink!

WALK OF FAME

2010-08-11T04:06:00.000-07:00

I was watching a television show last night, a show about the Hollywood Walk of Fame

on Hollywood Boulevard. I noticed that lots of the actors with stars on the walk are blonds, like me.

There's Marilyn Monroe,

Dolly Parton,

Lassie...

Hold it a sec --

Lassie?!?

She wasn't really a blond. And didn't I hear somewhere that it actually took three dogs to play the role?

Okay, if Lassie's on the Walk of Fame, why not Pinkie?

I'm a blond blogger. You can't get much cooler than that.

Next time Kate wants to take me for a walk, why not a Walk of Fame?

I'm ready!

GOING GREEN

2010-08-03T14:50:00.000-07:00

People ask me what I am doing to fight Global Warming.

For one thing, I eat locally.

Usually I eat whatever I am able to find On the floor under the table.

Once in a while to be really green, I eat string beans.

But I especially like watermelon, strawberries and raspberries -

all part of the Pink food group.

DOG DAYS OF SUMMER

2010-08-01T07:51:00.000-07:00

It says right here that the Dog Days of Summer officially begins August 1 and lasts until August 23. When people search for a derogatory phrase, why do they always pick “Dog?”

I’m a dog. I consider the practice insulting. And it goes waaay back. The Romans believed that the star Sirius caused the weather to be hot and sultry. Every year they sacrificed a brown dog to appease the rage of the Sirius, which is still known as the Dog Star. Luckily, I'm a blond, but still -- that is just barbaric!

-- Today's celebrity Pinkie blogger is Karen Bingham!

DEAR PINKIE

2010-07-28T13:12:00.000-07:00

Dear Pinkie,
  I am a bulldog in love. It all began when our a certain someone came to dinner. When no one was looking, he slipped me cheese, and lots of it. I'm not talking Velveeta here. It was camembert, roquefort, cheeses that no French bulldog can resist. He let me lick the brie off his finger tips! For me, it was love at first bite. But for him? Who knows? He drove off and left me pining in the driveway.
  Please, help me, Pinkie! I need to know, am I his special cheese puff? Or would he feed cheese to any old bulldog?
  Your cheesy friend,
  Toby

Dear Toby,
   Next time that certain someone comes over, why not invite me, too? I will pose as 'any old bulldog' and we shall see if he feeds me cheese. For your sake, I hope he won't, but I have to warn you -- my begging face is hard to resist.
  Your problem-solver,
  Pinkie

A LIGHT BREAKFAST

2010-07-19T06:58:00.000-07:00

They look like eggs and there's a whole vine of them growing on the deck.
sniff, sniff
Don't smell like much.
lick, lick
No taste at all.
I think I'll eat the flowers.

HAPPY BASTILLE DAY

2010-07-14T07:36:00.000-07:00

Liberty!

Equality!

Fraternity!

KITCHEN FLOOR

2010-07-11T13:48:00.000-07:00

Finally the renovation is finished, and Toby and I can eat in the kitchen again.

When Kate put our bowls down on the old tile floor, they made a sort of clink. On the new cork floor, it's more of a thud.

Other than that, I can't really see what all the fuss is about. Dinner's dinner, right?

Any chance for seconds?

A MESSAGE FROM STELLA

2010-07-07T14:24:00.000-07:00

This just in from one beautiful bulldog:

Dear Pinkie,

Best wishes for a very Happy Birthday! I had no idea you were five years old!

Moi? Je suis Une.

I'm on vacation at my Grandparents in Mountain Top, Pennsylvania while Laura and Billy visit

Krissie and Sandy in Wellfleet, on Cape Cod. The house they are renting does not allow pets.

Can you imagine?

Stella

Cher Stella,

No pets? Surely they don't mean bulldogs!

Thank you for my birthday wishes.

When's your birthday?

Kisses!

Pinkie

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

2010-06-19T11:37:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday! That's right, on this very day in 2002, Champion Dreamstar's Color My World was born. What? You didn't know I was a champion? Am I ever. And a Gemini, like Jim.

How did I celebrate, you ask? After breakfast, Kate let me lick her cereal bowl. Mmmmmmm. They we went to the farmers market and Kate told everyone we saw that it was my birthday, and I got lots of extra attention. Then Toby and I got a big bones to gnaw on, and we partied around in the grass for a while. Who knows what else might happen? Ooooh, I just love my birthday.

LICKING PLATES

2010-06-14T04:11:00.000-07:00

The kitchen, the most important room in the house, is all messed up. There's no stove, no fridge, no sink, and no dishwasher.

There's cardboard taped down all over the kitchen floor. I nab a piece when I can, but it's pretty bland stuff.

Kate and Jim are cooking on a hot plate in Jim's studio, so they're eating just fine. But Toby and me? Not so much. Kate's rule: No dishwasher, no licking plates. Since when did she get so finicky? I ask you -- is this fair?

ALMOST SUMMER

2010-06-04T11:44:00.000-07:00

Pinkie: Toby, don't you love this time of year?
Toby: Uh huh.
Pinkie: The trees are green, and so is the grass, and the chipmunks are running around.
Toby: Um-hum.

Pinkie: And after a big storm, the air is so fresh. Come on, Toby! Take a big bulldog breath!
Toby: (breathes)
Pinkie: Look up! Did you ever see the sky so blue? And will you look at those clouds? Billowy! See that one over there? Looks like a Rottweiler, doesn't it?
Toby: Not exactly.

Pinkie: I just love a day like this, when it's warm, but not hot, and there's a breeze and the birds are singing and the bees are buzzing.
Toby: Pinkie, if you're quiet you can hear birds singing.
Pinkie: I know it, but I have so much to say!

LUCKY DOG

2010-06-01T06:56:00.000-07:00

Kate and Jim's kitchen is under construction, so they've been eating out a lot. Toby and I love to eat out! You wouldn't believe the quantities of food people drop during the course of a meal. If you have ever crawled underneath a table at a restaurant and sniffed around on the floor, then you know what I'm talking about. But do Kate and Jim take us along when they go out to Sag Harbor's fine eateries? I am sorry to report that they do not.

Meet Buster. Here he is on the porch of the American Hotel, looking quite pleased with himself after an evening of fine dining. His owners clearly understand (better than some I could name) the need for a dog to get out every now and then, experience a little variety in the chow department. Buster, you are one lucky dog!

SNOUTS

2010-05-28T17:29:00.000-07:00

If you've been paying attention, you know that French bulldogs have no snouts. We have noses, sure. We can sniff out all sorts of good things in the yard. And in the garbage. But there are some things that we snoutless dogs simply cannot do.
Behold Winston, a handsome, friendly two-year-old Labradoodle. Winston has a snout. The thing takes up half his face. Maybe you like that sort of thing. In any case, here's what he can do that Toby and I can't:

His person balances a small piece of bread on his snout and says, "Wait...wait...go!"

Yep, he got the goods. Very cute, Winston. But is this in any way a survival trait? I don't think so.

In my opinion, snouts are overrated.

What do you think?

THE PERFECT GUEST

2010-05-25T05:15:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, we had visitors from Texas. They were all very nice, but only one understood what it takes to be the perfect guest, and that was Kathryn.

At lunch, Kathryn nibbled at her sandwich and fed the rest to Toby and me. Bread, ham, a gooey French cheese, mmmmm. We even ate the lettuce.

And for dessert? Apple tart topped with creme fraiche. All French bulldogs dream of licking creme fraiche from a spoon, and for moi, that dream became a luscious reality. Merci, Kathryn! Come back soon, Kathryn!

How far is Texas from here, anyway?