Bichon's don't want it getting blabbed around, but we make great masseuses. I never told. Mommy figured it out by accident.
We were playing "throw" (not fetch) one day, when Mommy had the bright idea of hiding my ball down the back of her blouse. As if that would fool any bichon! I simply climbed on her back and dug like mad!
And that's how I let the cat (nasty catsies, we hates 'em!) out of the bag. Since then, I can't get a moment's rest. All day it's nothing but, "Delly, my shoulder blade itches. To the left, left, left...no, your other left." I've worn my paws to the bone on Mommy's dry, itchy shoulder blades. If she wouldn't be so darn clean, I'd have time to run out and get a manicure or somethin'.
Once upon a time, I rolled on a frog. A dead frog. Stick with me here. I was just a little baby when I did it. Here's how it happened.
It was 2011 and I'd just been adopted. I was an only bichon back then. Mommy worked long hours, so I was home alone a lot. Neither of us liked it. That's why I hid under tables when Mommy left for work. She used to drag me out by a hind leg to kiss me goodbye. And I barked and barked, "Mommy! No! Don't leave!" as she left.
We both looked forward to weekends immensely 'cause we got to spend two whole days together. But on this particular Saturday, Mommy had to work. And she brought me with her to work.
I was very good! I laid on Mommy's desk in my carrying bag and chewed on my bone. Then she took me outside to piddle. And that's when I found the dead frog.
It smelled so delightful, like a swamp on a hot August day, I just had to get a little of that amazing scent behind my ears. So, naturally, I rolled on it.
I spent the rest of the day laying on Mommy's desk, reeking of dead frog.
I had to pee. Usually, I'm good all night. But that darn prostate. Oh wait, I don't have a prostate. Anyways, Mommy does NOT need more than five hours of sleep. Especially after kicking me out of her bed for digging up the sheets like a maniac.
Now, bichons, the trick to waking up your exhausted human is the Rhythmic Bark. It's an art, not a science. Don't just woo-woo-woo all over the place. No whining, no growling. Bark. Rhythmically.
WOOF! One one thousand, two one thousand. WOOF! Three one thousand, four one thousand. WOOF!
All together now. And a one, and a two, and a three...hit it!
Hi! Delly here! I'm a bichon frise. My mommy says I'm crazy, eccentric and hilarious. These are my doodles. WOOF!