Hey homies check this out. I was snoozing under a tree at the park while Mom sat on a bench reading a book. Garbo was running her crazy eights in the grass. My eyes were closed when I heard a woman's excited voice, "Oh! I thought that was a rock!" When I opened my eyes, the woman was squatting next to me, so I rolled over for a free massage."I'm a dog scout," I heard the woman tell Mom. "I've never seen anything that looks like this."
When Shari said she works for Le Paws in L.A., I nearly peed myself! The William Morris of pet talent agencies!
"Does he do tricks? Is he smart? Does he like people?" Yes, heck yeah and well, that depends. I looked at Mom. Tell her, Mom! I was aghast when she mumbled something about my standing
in my water dish and soaking my paws. That's not a trick, that's a bad habit! I watched powerless as she revealed another secret."He likes to scratch his butt by sliding on the sidewalk."
How embarrassing! And poor Mom. Babbling on like that making no sense at all with her shirt tag hanging out as usual.
Then the shocker: "Can you bring him into the agency next week for an evaluation?"
Just like Lana Turner at Schwab's Drug Store. I've been discovered, finally!
OK, I want a Pinkberry yogurt machine set up in my trailor. Monogramed M&Ms, each color in a separate dish. A special room for my wigs and absolutely no smoking, gum chewing or breathing loudly near the artist.
God, I hope my stage mother doesn't turn into Dina Lohan and I end up in rehab. Or worse, a Jeff Archuleta nightmare and mess things up with my career.
Note to self: Review statute regarding dogs divorcing parents.
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