Sometimes, when you are a little whippet dog, you know things, and a thing that I started knowing last night is that when a friend of yours who is very big goes away, the sadness that you feel about it can be very big, too. Last night at the hospital place, Daddy and Our Mommy Girl and my very large friend Mr. Mordred all sat on the floor together while one of the nice-eyes pajama people played with Mr. Mordred’s leg. He put his head on our Daddy’s lap, and I sniffed his face and Our Mommy Girl put her wet and salty face into his fur and then all of a sudden, the thing that made Mr. Mordred my very big and wonderful and tall and big friend wasn’t there any more. He was still big, but he wasn’t him anymore, and he was very still.

Daddy and now only My Mommy Girl walked to our home place together, and I tried to see if maybe Mr. Mordred was playing a joke on us by slipping out of his fur and then putting it on at home. The funny thing was that all the places that he usually is in – he is in there even more now that he’s not there. Maybe sometime I will not be looking around for him very much, but that time is not now at all.

I miss you, my big, brave, beautiful, big friend.

xoxoMorgane

I just wanted to say that if you are ever looking for Mr. Mordred and me at a place that is not here, a good place to look would be at houndblogs.com.

xoxoMorgane

If you are like me and you are a dog who is not a dog with a lot of fur or any fat at all, then probably also one of your most favorite hobbies in the world is not being cold. I am an especially lucky whippet dog because my other most favorite hobby is being very next to people and dogs who I love, and a lot of the time, it just so happens that this also makes me not cold. It is so nice when things work out that way - like how my most favorite two-legged people in the whole world who are not Mr. Anderson Cooper also happen to be my Daddy and Our Mommy Girl. I do not know what I did to become a girl whippet to whom so many nice things like that happen, but I hope it stays that way for me.

Right now in the burrow of Brooklyn, it is very full of the snow, so I will be practicing my hobbies a lot. I think I will go and not be cold and instead under a blanket next to my Daddy right now so I get very good at that.

xoxoMorgane

It has been brought to mine and Miss Morgane's collective attention that the Times of the New York recently featured a lengthy essay on the somewhat overdetermined origins of some of our canine brethren and sistren. I am speaking, of course, of the increasingly popular deliberate cross-breeding of Cockapoos, Puggles, Schnoodles, and, lest we forget, the Dachpulishtiff – a singularly troubling congress of Dachshund, Puli, and Mastiff resembling something not unlike a macramé plant sling into which has been stuffed a battered leather valise. We are all, to be sure, quite cordial to Mr. Helmutt, the DaPuStiff who frequents many of the same trash piles and lampposts Miss Morgane, our friends and I do, but frankly, it has proven rather difficult on occasion as none of us are ever entirely certain which of his ends is for sniffing, and which is for being sniffed.

I assure you, this state of affairs is less than ideal for all parties involved.

The writer of the article in the Times of New York states:

"The dogness of dogs has become problematic."

And for that, I, Mordred T. Dog, am immensely saddened. While I am as a professional, full-time dog, somewhat biased, I am firmly of the opinion that our very dogness is that for which we should be loved, rewarded with delicious treats, and celebrated. It is truly a joyous thing to be a dog - to be able to take in the heady pleasures of the world with hedonistic licks and sniffs, seek out new and familiar sources of comfort and wonderment, and express boundless affection for that and for whom we love so fiercely. It is with utter abandon that I leap for and kiss my Daddy upon his return from the out-of-house place he goes so that he may provide us with our daily kibble. He minds not my enthusiastic drool, never begrudges me the walkies I require - and even seem to enjoy this shared exercise. He would not have to en-trouser himself even in weather most foul to facilitate his pet's elimination needs if he had a cat, but he did not choose a cat. Miss Morgane and I are as Dog as dogs can be, and I've a notion we're loved because of it - not despite.

Yours,

Mordred T. Dog

It is indeed most humbling to know that the world at large was made aware of my infirmities of last week, but it is most gratifying to be able to share with you the news that my presence has been re-established within my family pack largely (though, at my current 86 lbs, not nearly so largely as before) and in chargely (except of Daddy and Our Mommy Girl).

Yes, the afore-referenced "new-monia" has been relegated to the status of "former-monia", and it is my fondest wish that I not have to weather a "re-monia" because of the ouchiness. Would that it were merely the large physical discomfort, I could surely bear it, but infinitely less tolerable is the psychic distress of knowing that I had to temporarily abandon my post as ferocious and majestic protector of my family pack, thus causing undue stress and worry to Daddy, Our Mommy Girl, and Miss Morgane. While Miss Morgane is certainly possessed of keen and impressive senses of sniffery, sight and hearery, she is of a delicate build, and not nearly so equipped to defend the family pack from all the various and sundry things that must be explored and barked at on a daily basis.

Yet, while my bulk may be less impressive than in times previous, my pelt not quite so deeply luxurious, and the timbre of my woof a shade phleghmy, the missing of my family pack by me during my unfortunate hospital place sojourn, and my joy upon our reuniting caused my adoration for them to become far more powerful than any "new-monia" or "canned sir" ever could be.

Yours,

Mordred T. Dog

There is a time and a place for pooping. The time for pooping is any time at all, because it is very fun to do. The place for pooping is somewhere that is NOT MY HEAD!

I love Mr. Mordred more than I love most things in the world, even cheese, and I am so veryvery glad that he is home from the hospital place, and that our family pack is all together again. But when he makes poop that is runny, and he leaves it in places that are places that my head usually goes, and I don't see it before I put my head down, then I have to go and cry and wipe it off somewhere soft like Daddy and Our Mommy Girl's nice, warm bed, and then they cry without tears, but with voices that are upset and sad. Not upset with Mr. Mordred, because they know he cannot help it, and not at me, because they know I do not want to have poop on my head, but just upset.

But I would rather have Mr. Mordred at home and pooping wrong places than not have him home at all.

xoxoMorgane

Our Mommy Girl just told me that Mr. Mordred wouldn’t be coming home from the hospital place until Friday, because he has a "new monia". I do not remember when Mr. Mordred had an old monia, but if he got something new, and it is nice, I’m sure he will share it with me, his best and closest friend who is also a dog. Because in addition to being impressive and tall, he is also very good with sharing.

xoxoMorgane

It is a big job for a little dog to have the job of being Only Dog while the big dog who is usually also around is off being warm in the hospital place. Poor Mr. Mordred was so hot and slow and loud breathing all day and while it was nice to have Our Mommy Girl to curl up next to all day long today, I could tell that she was sad. Because he is big, and when he is not good-feeling, it is a very big not good-feeling all over the home. When he didn't even look up when Daddy or Our Mommy Girl tried to hug or sing to him tonight, we all got into the magical Jeep machine to a place with people in their pajamas, and where I could smell that lots of other dogs who didn't feel good have been.

Mr. Mordred saw all of the pajama people, and I guess he liked them, because he is staying at their sleepover where they will feed him lots of pill-shaped treats and delicious drinks, and try to make his 'fection go away. I do not really know what a 'fection is, but since he sometimes comes home with less of his very handsome and impressive fur coat that he had before, I think it must be that. Oh – and he won't be alone, because I heard them say that his Auntie Biotic would be brought to him. I do not know her personally, but since Mr. Mordred always seems to feel better after he sees her, I can only imagine she is very nice.

I think probably my Daddy's backs of knees are probably cold now. I just think so. I will go make them warm now.

xoxoMorgane

Sometimes when you are just a small dog, and your Daddy and Mommy Girl have to leave the home, and your Mr. Mordred is off having the chemotological therapy (that has made the Two Murrs be a lot smaller, but which has also made your very large and elegant friend be very heave-y and barfy when he came home), no one wants you to be at the home by yourself. And you don't really want to be, either, because you do not know how to turn the television machine to visit Mr. Anderson Cooper, and because sometimes you get scared of sounds and the toaster. Then that is when you get dressed up in your little coat and go walking over with your Mommy Girl to a place full of other dogs whose family packs have jobs and barfing to do, and who would be sad alone, too, and then you are all together and not sad.

There is a lot of sniffing, and a lot of running, and I did some of both of those because everyone who was a dog and a person was very nice and also smelled good, but then I wanted to be with my people persons and my Mr. Mordred dog person, and so there was some crying from me, and some sleeping from me, and then the going home to be with my family pack. That last part was nicer than it had ever been before, because I had never not been with at least one of them, and that is not a way I like for it to be.

And if this happens, I never have to be away from them again when they go out for hamburger meat and dancing!

Senator wants dog-friendly bars

By Rachel La Corte

OLYMPIA — If dog-loving lawmakers prevail, Fido could soon be sidling up to bar stools around the state under a measure that would allow well-behaved, leashed canines to join their human companions as they down their favorite microbrews.

The bill would allow bars and restaurants with liquor licenses to welcome dogs, as long as the canines accompany their owners and remain leashed.

I do not think that dogs should drink things that have alcohol in them, but that is just because I know that it makes it dangerous for them to drive home.

xoxoMorgane

I am sure that many of you, as I did, were privy to a certain amount of television machine chatter vis-a-via a "super" sort of "bowl" on this most recent of the Sundays. I can attest that the contents of my bowl could indeed be deemed "super" as evidenced by the chicken 'n stars soup warmed and stirred into a piquant tinned blend of lamb and assorted grains, followed later in the day by an entrée of browned ground beef whose liquefied fat had been lovingly spooned over the bed of kibble upon which the meaty deliciousness had been arranged in my aforementioned bowl.

I am aware that my recent loss of appetite and the diminishment of my impressive and majestic bulk due to the chemotological therapy I have been undergoing has been of rather a large amount of concern to my Daddy and Our Mommy Girl. But the undertaking of a national media campaign to raise public awareness of the measure they were undertaking to tempt my buds of taste so as to afford me strength to combat this unfortunate Canned Sir is just so very touching to me, and I thank all who were involved.

Now, off to locate that most tempting-sounding "pig skin" I heard was being handed around. Where there is the skin of a pig, there is quite likely the succulent meat of one as well.

Yours, sated,

Mordred T. Dog

Maybe you did not know that I am your friend who is a whippet, but I promise that I am good at being both a friend and a whippet, so I should be yours!

But besides being good at those things and being skinny, I am also good, like Mr. Mordred is at having favorite things, too.

Some of things are also Daddy, Our Mommy Girl and Mr. Justin Timberlake like Mr. Mordred said, but there are other things, too, like cheese for being yummy, little coats for being pretty to wear, pooping for being fun to do, runningrunningrunning for being something I am veryveryvery fast at, Mr. Anderson Cooper for being so friendly and handsome and nice to dogs through the television machine, Mr. Mordred for being tall so I can stand under him when it rains and sometimes have rice and treats fall to me from his very manly face beard, other people who are dogs for having parts that they let me sniff, people who are people with hands for the petting of me, cake, and not being cold, which is my favorite thing of all.

In fact, I would even trade Mr. Anderson Cooper and cheese for not ever being cold, and that is saying a lot, because I want to marry both of them.

I have more favorite things, but I have to go be asleep now.

xoxoMorgane

On this, the anniversary of my six and a half year tenure upon this earth, and in the face of this Rather Unfortunate Illness by which I am currently beset, I find it most inspiring to enumerate some of the things that make for the optimum happy-being.

- My Daddy, and his associated tallness, braveness, good-smelling-ness, and general awesomeness

- Miss Morgane, the constant amusement and companionship that she provides, as well as the delightful visual contrast that her most delicate and pointy smallness makes against my majestic bulk

- Peanut butter, for its deliciousness, but despite its roof-of-mouth stickery

- Miss India Husky-Chihuahua (I believe I have previously listed a good many of the reasons)

- Grass, for the general rolling around upon-ery of it

- Squirrels. Every hero needs an evil nemesis to counterpoint his splendiferous goodness.

- My Daddy's Jeep. It is a magical machine with an enchanted back seat where if I rest my keen and soulful eyes for several moments, I will suddenly be transported to a land simply choc-a-block with the aforementioned grass and squirrels, as well as eminently chase-able deer, a glorious bounty of sniffable trees, bushes, rocks, etc., and myriad surfaces upon which I have not yet urinated.

- Chicken. Because yum.

- Our Mommy Girl. Because she brings me said chicken, has a delightfully liberal hand with the peanut butter and assorted munchable snack items, and maintains the most wonderfully pungent and lickable foot soles

- Mr. Justin Timberlake, for his fresh, funky, and extremely danceable-to beats

- Soft things, and their niceness upon which to lay my impressively large frame

- Toys that possess internal squeaking apparatuses - they amuse me so.

- Cubes of ice, for their pleasing crunchery

- My Daddy. Have I mentioned him?...

Yours, splendidly and six-and-a-halfly,

Mordred T. Dog

The nice thing about a bunch of dogs getting together to play on the interweb is that they and everyone else gets to see that it is wonderful to be a dog of any kind. No matter what kind of dog you are, that is the kind of dog you should be, and everyone around you will love you for being that dog.

It just makes me sad when I hear that some of the mommies and daddies of some of the dogs who have gotten together to play here together on the interweb dog show, maybe aren't just letting fun happen the way it should. Sometimes they are barking and biting, when instead we should all just be sniffing around to get to know and like as many dogs as we can. Growling makes it so no one wants to come and play, and that's no fun at all. It even made it so Ezzy, who was our very top most popular Pug friend in the Toy category had so many people barking and growling at her that her mommy took her home, and we miss her.

All of the dogs here are pretty and smell delicious, so why not get to know them? They might then be your friend and share toys and new places to sniff things.

Your nice friend who is a nice dog,

xoxoMorgane

It has become increasingly evident during my lifelong tenure as a New York City Dog that the denizens thereof are not especially frequently exposed to canines of my majestic and generous proportions. This has, on occasion, caused me sadness. Thus I offer the next installment in my Heaves of Grass series of poetical musings.

Rumination of an Uncommonly Large Hound in a City Not Entirely Used To Seeing the Likes of Him

When you are a very large hound
A very large hound like me
You'll find very quickly as you stroll around
That certain people are quite prone to flee

What they're fearing, I can scarcely guess
I do not mean to cause them any harm,
Or undue fright, or extreme duress
Or any level of excess alarm

Perhaps it is that they've mistaken moi
For a monster or a terrifying bear
To that sort of nonsense, I must say pshaw!
And feign as if I do not really care

But deep, deep down it truly troubles me to think
That I could possibly arouse such nasty fret
Because it’s not as if at will, I can suddenly shrink
Though I suppose I could consult my vet

I really would like for all and sundry to learn
That it is not about the size of beast
I hope and I yearn, that they’ll no longer spurn
As upon them I do not wish to feast

For I am a kindly dog, albeit rather sizeable
And I understand that’s not especially normal
So if you come upon me I’d say that it’s advisable
For us to have an introduction formal

Yours, poetically and largely,

Mordred T. Dog

I am so very excited, because that's how you are when you get to meet someone who is a celebrity. That has not happened very often for me, besides meeting Miss Margot Thistleglen the very famous Scottish Deerhound at the National Show of the Dogs a little while ago, and then another time seeing Misters Jerry and Mickey the famous mice behind the refrigerator.
I see Mr. Anderson Cooper inside the television machine a lot of the time, but that isn't, I think, really meeting him because I can not smell his wonderful smell which is probably a lot like nice clean socks, and the oven after Thanksgiving has been cooked in it.

The celebrity I met is a very handsome professional acting dog named Zydeco. He is in the Dog Actors Guild, and it is his job that when movies and the television machine need a dog who looks like him, he goes and plays that dog. It is a job I could not do, because I do not look like him, but I could probably play a dog who looks like me.

Anyhow, he is handsome, and took some classes to learn how to play a dog, because sometimes the dog they want you to play is not the dog you're feeling like right then. Like they want you to be an asleep dog, but you are feeling like an awake dog. Or they want you to pretend to not like and be mean to someone who you probably actually really like because they smell like cheese. This is not an easy job to do, but Mr. Zydeco is very, very handsome at it.

Someone who is also handsome at it is Mr. Mordred, who is trying very, very hard right now to act like a healthy, strong, not-sick dog for our Daddy, but that is really not easy for him right now. Think nice thoughts for him, won't you?

xoxoMorgane