My question today is as follows: "When does a 6'6" Irish Wolfhound eat pie?"
The answer, as I understand it, is "Whenever I would like to. Providing there is a pie available." If you would like to see me putting my findings into action, you would be most welcome to observe a short documentary film of such on the You Tube on your computer machine.
Mordred T. Dog, Irish Wolfhound at Large / Eater of Delicious Holiday Treats
Well gosh – I can not rightly say that I know what cockles are, but I’m pretty sure my heart has an awful lot of them, because they just got all warm and toasty when my Daddy told me about a story he read about on the interweb. In England – which Daddy says is too far for me to run to and visit this afternoon – Miss Hazel German Shepherd, aged 2, has gotten to be just such very bestest friends with a pretty little burrowing owl named Boobah. Boobah rides around on Hazel’s head all day long, and I’ll just bet they spend the whole golly-darned time giggling and talking about things like cats, and sleeping, and how nice trees are. It’s so awfully nice to have friends!
And speaking of friends, that handsome boy Mr. Mordred had a tummy ache this morning and had to go see the veterinarian doctor. Boooo! Raise a happy paw for him and wish for him feeling better soon, soon, soon! Two-leggers – pet your four-legged friends, and my fellow pups - kiss your Mommy and Daddy and let them know how much you love them!
I ask you, is there any sound more soul-stirring than that of car keys jingling? I realize that some of my canine colleagues might cite the whirr of the electric can opener, or the gentle glide of the refrigerator door hinges, but they clearly have never been in the back of my Daddy's Jeep.
As my lovely colleague Morgane can attest, it's a magical place where a dog can lay down his or her frolic-spent body for a brief shut-eye (though I, Mordred T. Dog remain ever vigilant, alert, and ready to protect my Daddy and dear Morgane at all times!), and open them again to find trees, and grass, and all manner of sniffable, chewable, roll-around-on-able things as far as a sighthound's keen eyes can see. If the chilly wind weren't ruffling my rugged, manly coat, I would swear I was dreaming (which I would, if I slept, but I don't…not deeply, at least).
But I cannot yet abandon myself to the delights of the unfettered outdoors. Morgane and I must confer and collect our thoughts on the miraculous events of yesterday – the dog show on the televsion machine, almost everyone's Mommies and Daddies being home during the light-outside hours, and the mysterious appearance of ham and turkey morsels in the food bowls of nearly every one of our acquaintances. The theory at the park was that perhaps it was some sort of national dog appreciation day being celebrated, but we'll get to the bottom of this, or my name isn't Mordred T. Dog – Irish Wolfhound At Large (though sometimes my Daddy calls me "Lumpy.")
I feel we have reached a point in our relationship wherein I am comfortable with sharing something of a rather personal nature. I, Mordred T. Dog, in my puppy days of yore, longed to be a show dog. Yes, there were head pats and adulation to be considered, as well as the companionship of some rather admirable specimens of dog-dom, but more than any of these, I relished the notion of a very public forum in which I could be the Goodest Boy Possible for my Daddy.
Sadly, before I even got a chance to set paw into the show ring, my Pup Star aspirations were lopped short by the untimely meeting of a front toe and a heavy steel door. Thus, lo, these many years, I have been one claw short of my dreams…until now.
Thanks to our forward-thinking, and utterly delectable-smelling friends at Dog Show USA and Purina, even those of us who are a claw off, a pound or two over, or a hair stray of a rigorous breed standard can be publicly acknowledged as the Very Good Dogs we are – and our beloved Daddies and Mommies do not even have to put us in the car, make us take baths, or have long, hard-to-remember names like Champion His Royal King Mighty Emperor FuzzBottom Esq., when we are perfectly contented answering to, say, "Mr. Droolyhead" at home.
And, in an equally refreshing stray from the norm, pups of mixed and/or dubious parentage are most welcome entrants as well. While I, Mordred T. Dog am pleased to be a pureblooded ambassador of the splendid Irish Wolfhound tradition, and the lovely Morgane is an impeccable instance of Whippetry, my dear friend Jo-Jo Poo-Poo Pants of Hoboken in the New Jersey (pictured above) would be a most worthy contender for the mantle of "Cutest Dog," which is open to canine contestants of all shapes, sizes, and toe-counts. My fellow four-leggers – are you ready for your close-ups?
Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. Dog Show on right now. I just...oh my goodness. The lovely Morgane is so excited, she's running around in circles on the couch and nipping at her own dainty tail. We'd heard talk about it at the park, of course, but...oh my goodness. Daddy was watching the Macy's Thankgiving Day Parade on the television machine, and then it was over, and now there's the National Dog Show.
I do not wish to brag, but I believe I see a few dogs I know right now. Oh...oh...Hi, Sparkles!...can you see me through the television machine? It's me, Mordred!
More later...I'm just so araaAAAARRROOOoooooo....
M.T.D.
p.s. And I would just like to mention that there are an awful lot of my canine colleagues out there who are not as fortunate as my friend Morgane and me. Perhaps you may be the two-legger who helps them. I can promise you that they will be as thankful and loving to you are as we are to our Daddy. http://www.rallytorescue.org/
I would just like to note that while I continue tirelessly, though without nearly enough naps, to raise the profile of Irish Wolfhounds everywhere as Very Good Dogs, sometimes I admit to a small bit of jealousy of my charming companion Miss Morgane. While she is in her own right a most excellent canine ambassador, it would seem that the fame of her kind has spread further than has mine.
How do I assess this, you may ask? Well, so often when strangers stop our Daddy along the street to inquire as to what breeds we are, when he tells them that Miss Morgane is a Whippet, the response is, at least 87% of the time, "Whippet? Real good." We Irish Wolfhounds elicit no such response. Are we not dogs? We are Wolfhounds. And we are, dare I say, real good, too.
I had the most interesting chat with my dear friend Mitzi Maltese today! I know she's prone to fib sometimes, like that time she told the entire park that she lived in a penthouse made of liver treats, but this time she mentioned that a sister of hers is going to be in a dog show on television on Thursday.
Then that sweet Miss Roxanne Pit Bull (the pretty girl in the boa!) said that she overheard Axel Swissie at the dog spa saying he was getting his nails done especially for the National Dog Show, and I know for a fact that he's won several titles because I heard his Mommy tell my Daddy. Plus, he…he is...awfully handsome… (Golly - don't tell Mordred I said that - I'd be ever so embarassed!)
Oh, I begged and pleaded with Daddy to let me be in a show, but I believe he just thought I wanted a cookie, 'cause that's what he gave me. It was an awfully nice cookie, and I nibbled it right up, but golly, wouldn't it be just divine to have everyone fussing over you and making you pretty? Here – see for yourself!
Upon the occurrence of today's chill in our borough of Brooklyn, New York, my charming, young Whippet colleague, Morgane has agreed to join me in a dialogue on the comparative merits and detriments of the seasonal conditions. I will begin.
I, Mordred T. Dog am an Irish Wolfhound. We, as a breed, possess a dual coat consisting of a soft under layer, and a harsh, wiry outer layer – ideal for weathering the extremes of the winter, well, weather. (Look at me – I made a funny.) My dear Morgane, would you care to present the results of your research?
I'm cold.
Ah yes. The cold. Irish Wolfhounds have been bred to thrive in the chilly, damp climes of our native Celtic land. We are of hardy constitution, and can easily withstand temperature plunges down to 19 below zero. And my considerably more petite sighthound colleague, the Whippet?
I'm cold.
Oh, the cold! Doesn't it simply invigorate every one of your senses? Making your nostrils tingle, your paw pads sing, and your…
Mr. Mordred, I'm awfully, awfully cold. Whippets don't have any body fat, and I believe my little nosie has fallen right off.
Yes, Morgane, but you look ever so fetching in your winter ensemble. The snood and coat bring out the lovely colors in your fur. I, Mordred T. Dog need no such accoutrements to supplement the natural weather protection of my luxurious, but rugged pelt, but even if I did, I am certain I would not be half as attractive as you, ma chere Whippet.
Why thank you kindly, Mr. Mordred. That's really… Um, Mr. Mordred?...
Yes, my dear?
I'm cold.
Sigh. I suppose I'm not going to make much conversational headway in this particular company, but I'd wager that the handsome Mr. Axel G. Swissie would have something to say on the subject. Slip me some paw, brother dog?
And if you, or someone you love are a super-happy winter pup, I would be most delighted to make your acquaintance. Most delighted, indeed.
M.T.D.
p.s. I'm still awfully, awfully cold. Might anyone have a little blanket? A warm cup of chicken broth? I'll take anything...
I may have noted a time or two that I place a great deal of importance on good-being for my Daddy. Today, I would like to commence an on-going feature wherein I commend other canines for their notable goodery toward their Daddies.
Case in point – an extremely good Long-Haired German Shepherd who Morgane and I encountered on the street during walkies yesterday. We had all paused on a street corner for a light of red, and I moved over to sniff a friendly hello. She did not return the greeting, and thus I feared I was being a bit too forward. I was just about to proffer a paw of apology when Morgane whispered in my ear that it looked as if Ms Shepherd's Daddy could not see especially well, and that perhaps I should note that the young lady was outfitted with a rather attractive leather handled harness. Heavens! She was looking out for her Daddy in a most thorough fashion, and I was in absolute awe at her level of unwavering goodness.
Ms Good Shepherd whispered a polite hello and goodbye to us after she ascertained that her Daddy was not in any imminent danger, and led him safely through the crosswalk. I, Mordred T. Dog was tremendously inspired, and am now considering how I may similarly amplify the level of goodness I can provide to my own Daddy. He is, of course, the strongest, smartest, kindest two-legger in the whole entire world, but perhaps there is some service I can provide for him. Oh…I have it! Daddy is a very busy and important man, and now that it has gotten somewhat chilly outside…
Very chilly. Very very chilly.
Yes, my dear Morgane, very chilly. As I was saying, I have heard Daddy saying that he would like to acquire a new winter coat, but he does not have time for the shopping. I, Mordred T. Dog, will give him some of mine. After he goes night-night, I will steal away to the living room, remove his inadequate outwear from the hook, and roll to and fro upon it until it is fully blanketed with contributions from my own warm, luxurious pelt. It's really the very least I can do for my Daddy.
We commend you Ms Good Shepherd – you are an inspiration to us all. A 21-woof salute!
Hello nice friends!
Gentle Readers,
Greetings, Gentle Readers. 
Ah yes. The cold. Irish Wolfhounds have been bred to thrive in the chilly, damp climes of our native Celtic land. We are of hardy constitution, and can easily withstand temperature plunges down to 19 below zero. And my considerably more petite sighthound colleague, the Whippet?
