A Special Wish From Dion DiPoochy

Note from the editor:  First of all, thank you so much for your kind wishes and prayers for my Dad.  He was admitted to the hospital, thankfully it is not pneumonia, and he should recover from this latest problem.  But sadly he won't be with us for Thanksgiving Dinner.

However our dog Dion, an 11-1/2 year old Cavalier King Charles spaniel, will be, and he'll be expecting wonderful things to come his way.  In fact, he is so excited about tomorrow, that he's sending a message to all his sweet dog friends out in Blogland.

Today, the blog belongs to Dion . . . . call your dog so he or she can read Dion's words of wisdom!

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Our kitchen makeover reveal was Monday's post: click here.

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Hello my Doggy Friends!

It's Dion, and I want to share some wisdom with you.

Back right after the world began, which was when I was born, I found out about a
magical being named Happy Frank. Every year, on the last Thursday in November,
this magical being brings gifts and presents and sometimes even freeze-dried
liver to lucky dogs. Lucky dogs who are GOOD.

Me, being good because I am asleep.

 This being is named Happy Frank, and that's why the last Thursday in November is
called HAPPY FRANK'S GIVING DAY.

Me, patiently waiting for Happy Frank.

Even our humans join in the celebration. They cook giant parakeets, and make
lots of green things that no one really wants, and pies that people really DO
want, and they eat so much food that after the meal the men of that species can
only lie sprawled on the sofas, taking up valuable dog space, with their pants
loosened and their tongues hanging out of their mouths . . . which is not as
cute when they do that as when we do that. The tongue thing, I mean. We don't
wear pants.

That's because we are so much better looking down there, you know?

See how cute my tongue is?

But I digress.

Anyway, when I was a mere puppy (and all puppies are mere), I would hope and
hope and hope for Happy Frank to bring me gifts on his Giving Day.

But he never did.
I was just not good enough.
I tried.

But somehow Happy Frank must have found out about the time I ate Mom's homemade
gingerbread house, or the time I stole a bag of marshmallow peeps out of a
visiting kid's backpack and ate them all, or the time I ate the glass Christmas
balls, or the time I ate my pet girl's birthday cake, or the time I stole the
bagels off the kitchen counter and ... yes, ate them, or the time I opened and
ate a whole tin of something called Hershey's bars (which was deeee-licious), or
the time I ate a big canister of Poppycock, or the time I jumped up on the stove
to get the leftovers out of a pot of stew, or the time I pulled the pet girls'
Halloween candy off the piano and . . . well, I think I've said enough to give
you an idea of why Happy Frank has not showered me with gifts in the past.

Me, after eating the whole can of Poppycock.  For some reason, I didn't feel so hot.

But this year, I've been good. I mean, really good.
An unkind soul might say it's because I can't jump up on countertops and pianos
and stoves anymore but I prefer to think that I am mellowing.

Maybe that's the key. Maybe Happy Frank waits until some of the things a dog
does to make his dog's life interesting and fun aren't so easy anymore . . . and
that's when you get the Giving Day presents.

Kind of like being able to join AARP and get discounts. Compensation.

I think that tomorrow will bring a big surprise for me, a wonderful present from
Happy Frank.

Me, still being good.  I have not even molested that new carpet in the sunroom.

I know it will bring 30 people to our house so I hope Mom is making a really
big-butt parakeet, and I hope those people are messy eaters prone to dropping
things, and I think if I can get a shot at the sweet potatoes and marshmallows
when they're unguarded . . . .

Oops. Old habits are hard to break.

Happy Frank, ignore that. I do not plan to dive into any casseroles or leap up
onto the stove. I will do my sad-eyed sit-at-the-feet of the likeliest pigeon --
I'm thinking Cousin Judy is a soft touch, or Uncle Scott -- but I will not steal
food. I will not. Really.

I am a good dog.

And I wish all my doggy friends a very Happy Frank's Giving Day, and I hope
Frank brings you a wonderful gift.

As long as he doesn't bring you MINE.

Love, Dion DiPoochy
Rockaway, NJ, USA

PS -- about getting caught filching the leftover stew out of the pot on the
stove? Who knew that sticking your head in a metal pot and rattling it around
on metal stove burners made enough noise to alert the humans in the dining room?
Live and learn.

And finally, me.  Being molested by my sisters.  This picture was taken about a hunnert years ago.