Day 2: I could put that precious little face in my mouth and eat him up. What a doll baby. The entire family decided to hold sort of a raffle in order to come up with the perfect name for him because he's such a perfect little dog. Is that beautiful or what? I'm in such a quandary trying to decide which one I love the most, Marc or Spike. Oh yes, that was the winning name for our precious tiny puppy-poo. Spike is actually the antithesis of what I always thought a Spike dog should look or act like. Trust me & our Spike is the exception to the rule. I am totally in love. Day 3: Spike has taken a real shine to my antique oriental rug, the one that was left to me by my grandmother, rest her soul. The upside of it is that it would appear that our precious puppy poo has excellent taste. The downside is that it seems he feels it necessary to mark his territory on every square inch of Granny's rug, the little dickens.

Day 4: Marc says he really didn't mind having to make an emergency trip to PetSmart at seven o'clock this morning because we had completely run out of puppy peepee pads. What a clever man I married. He took along a sledgehammer heavy enough to break the glass and rob the store in case it was not yet open. Marc was only able to purchase five-dozen peepee pads for our little bundle of badness, but that should be more than enough. It wont be much longer before he's completely house broken.

Day 5: I know it's hard to fathom, but Puppykins managed to go through every one of the pads Marc bought yesterday, so Spike scored another point on Granny's rug. My house smells like a freaking nursing home. Those loving eyes of Spike's, and the cute way he would cock his head to the side and stare straight through me were adorable four days ago but they are getting on my last nurturing nerve today. If Marc's dog pees or poops on Granny's rug one more time, they are both history. I have allergies. I have lived all of my life with a firm Animals Don't Live in the House with People Policy. I have limits. Day 6: Just after Marc went in search of a pet store that stays open all night in case we need emergency puppy peepee pads, my doorbell rang. It was the UPS man delivering a year's supply of It's All About Moi Magazine. I love getting packages via UPS. Okay, I admit it. I like to flirt with that cute UPS guy ~ I'm middle-aged, not dead. I just happened to ask him if he suffered (like Moi) with allergies to dogs. He told me that he did not, and then added (with tears in his eyes) that he was still grieving for his recently deceased Poodle, Tammy Faye, who choked on his wife's false eyelashes and died. Well, it simply broke my heart. I felt obliged to help that poor man out of his sorrowful state, so I gave him Spike. I ask you: what else could I have done? Day 7: What a difference a day makes. I have been grinning till my jaws hurt. When I picture Spike riding right up there in the front seat of that UPS truck looking so darn cute, I know in my heart that Mr. UPS and Spite, uh, I meant to say Spike, are destined to have a good life together. Me? I am happily lounging within the four walls of my environmentally refreshed and blissfully quiet home with nary a distraction to keep me from enjoying my new issues of It's All About Moi Magazine. PS: By the way, girlfriend, there is a Santa Claus, but he's had an Xtreme makeover that drastically changed his appearance. He shaved that shaggy beard off and lost that baggy red suit. So I ask you& what can BROWN do for you?

Love, Vernie