The Ninety-Second Choice

My brain and my conscience fought.

No, really fought. I was up all night, weighing the pros and cons of being honest and making Kathryn win.


1. My life could very well be finished if Mom and Dad figure out about this [which I'm pretty sure they are, considering how no one in this house is even allowed to use the loo without their permission]

2. I need someone of -how do I put this??- superior intellect to take over MY business. I mean, what if Kath manages to WRECK B-Dawg??

3. Think about all the hearts that will be shattered. And for what?? So that my can’t-think-beyond-the-next-Gucci-sale sister can start running B-Dawg??


1. I can co to sleep at night knowing that I did the right thing.

That’s about it. For THREE very valid, very DANGEROUS cons, I have one LOUSY, stinkin’ pro that I’m not even sure is qualified to be one in the first place. I mean, who even cares about CONSCIENCE these days??

That’s right. NO ONE.

So why should I?? [Care about it, I mean] Why should I always be the good one and play by the rules??

I’m telling you, being a dog in a world run by humans?? Sucks.

Th Ninety-First Shock

Imagine my surprise when I shove open the note on which the name of the person who will take over my very popular column is inscribed…

…Only to see KATHRYN’S name there. My SISTER, Kathryn. Who is now, officially, B-Dawg.

Only, she isn’t.

Because NO WAY IN HECK am I crowning her as the next B-Dawg. No WAY. It’s bad enough that I am a dog with a thing for blogging.

But being a dog with a thing for blogging AND a having family who knows all about it?? No thank you.

Because I can totally see what will happen if I let Kathryn win; The first thing she’ll do is tell Mom and Dad, and they’ll spend the whole night Googling B-Dawg and they’ll chance upon my blog and the next thing you know, I’m in a zoo filled with “special” animals like myself, writing for anyone who slips a fiver into my cage.

And that is SO what I want to do for the rest of my life.


I’m going to have to think fast and figure out what to do. I mean, when it comes to personal reasons, I have more than enough to realize that Kathryn is not becoming the next me [even the THOUGHT is revolting. How can my lipstick-obsessed sibling POSSIBLY be half as charismatic and sophisticated as MOI??].

But when I dig deeper, my conscience is telling me that, even though it may completely destroy my life, I should stick to the rules and tell her that she won, fair and square.

Over an eMail, of course. I couldn’t just TELL her face-to-face, for obvious reasons [one of them being that I can't -ahem- speak].

Who knew that replacing myself would turn out to be such a heinous task????

The Ninetieth Declaration

AND WE HAVE A WINNER!!!!!!!!!!!!

In my fuzzy paws, I have a scrap of paper desperately clutched [a somewhat amazing feat, considering my lack of thumbs], waiting to be folded open and squealed over.

Why haven’t you “folded it open,” then?? You ask??

Well, because a part of me realized that I COULDN’T possibly read the contents with YOU, dear Reader. We have gone through the whole “B-Dawg Affair” [as I am calling this phase of my life] together, and it is only fitting that I end it with you by my side.

It’s time.

Time to figure out who’s going to be the next B-Dawg. Time to change someone’s life by sending them an eMail stating that from over a million responses, I picked THEM to follow my footsteps.

Time to hand over the baton.

>Hand trembles<

OK, here goes nothing;

>Tugs open chit<

>Promptly faints<


The Eighty-Ninth Answer

As it so happens, NOTHING was up, as I’d previously [and falsely] predicted.

Guess who the culprit was, the person who destroyed all those hours of hard work I’d dedicated into segmenting the files??

None other than, the great, the grand, the utterly amazing…


And OK, I know that this is nothing to be happy about, but I’m just so RELIEVED that I don’t have a crazy stalker who is trying to sabotage my career as an award-winning columnist [granted, I haven't received any awards, but a girl can dream, right??].

Anyway, I’ve refiled all the papers and will pick out a successor tomorrow.


The Eighty-Eighth Interrogation


I JUST finished sorting out all the names before going to bed last night, and this morning as I trotted down the stairs to get cracking on the heinous task of selecting only one draft among the tens of thousands, when I noticed that instead of the notes being in neat piles, like I’d left them last night, they were all over the place. ALL OVER THE PLACE!!!!

Do you know how much blood and sweat and bladder control it took to arrange ALL the sheets alphabetically?? Do you know the amount of sleepless nights I had to go through to get the work done when I did?? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO DO TO THE PERSON RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS ONCE I GET MY HANDS ON THEIR DIRTY LITTLE NECKS?????????????

They’ve managed to make the past three days of my life count only as complete wastes. They’ve wrecked all the plans I had of the delicious announcement I had planned to release today. And they’ve also gotten my day off to an utterly crappy start. Thanks a LOT, eejits.

Looks like I’m going to have to start all over again. The problem is, the family returned from their little rendezvous yesterday morning, so I don’t know how I’ll be able to work today. Or tomorrow. Or any day for the rest of my life.

[In case you're wondering how come my parents didn't see the scraps of card lying around the house, I want to let you know that I very cleverly -if I may say so myself-  pushed all the scraps under the carpet in the hall. They may have been a little suspicious -after all, the rug is now elevated to a height of about fifteen feet thanks to all the bits shoved there- but they didn't show it]


The Eighty-Seventh Problem

I probably should have thought the whole thing through before sending that eMail, because NOW, I have to find a top hat big enough to fit, like, seventy-eight million little chits so I can pick one random winner.  [At least Mom and Dad have taken the girls and gone for a weekend retreat and left me to my own devices -except for the neighbour who lets herself in, fills my water and food bowls and tries to persuade me to go for walks with her. Doesn't she see that I have more pressing issues to deal with than my on-the-verge-of-exploding bowels??-. I wonder how they will react when the arrive and see their house chock-full of paper...] Grrrr, this is SO frustrating!!

I wish I could go back in time and undo the whole B-Dawg thing. I realize now that it was a terrible mistake, even though I DID manage to dish out life-changing advice without which my readers would dispair.

At least there is ONE perk.

I just never even dreamed that my advice column would become SO popular. I certainly didn’t see THESE kind of numbers. I mean, if you told me a few days ago that I would  get nearly a million replies to my advert on the 13th, I would have strongly suggested that you got yourself admitted into a lunatic asylum first thing tomorrow. But now… But now that seems like the most  normal thing in the world.

And the most tiring.

How am I ever going to get all this work done?? I definitely need an agent to coordinate all my social events and take care of trivial stuff like lotteries that I am going to have to arrange for my fans.

And a personal secretary to take care of all the calls and eMails that are pouring in like nobody’s business nowadays.

And a physical fitness coach to give me tips and pointers on how to reduce my waistline [do you know that my hips are twice as large as that of my human father's??]

And a gourmet chef to whip up snacks whenever I please.

No wonder I am am so exhausted when I go to bed nowadays; I’m doing the work of FOUR grown men!!

The Eighty-Sixth Decision

As the title suggests, I have decided.

I have figured out how to choose a winner; by picking lots. I KNOW, there are infinite better ways to select someone to follow my prestigious footsteps, but I don’t really CARE.

Oh My Gangster Gun, I can’t believe I actually wrote that!!

I mean, of COURSE I care, it’s just that I don’t have the TIME. How do you expect a DOG to spend hours on the COMPUTER [just for the sake of some silly columnist I decided to create just because I had nothing else to do]??

So I sent a mass eMail to everyone who clicked the “I want to participate!!” button on my CL advertisement -curse them- and told them that if they wanted to seriously become the next B-Dawg, they should send their name to my address.

On after thoughts, that probably wasn’t the wisest choice. I mean, what are Mom and Dad going to say when they receive a TSUNAMI WAVE of chits with random people’s name’s scribbled on??

B-Dawg, SAVE ME!!!!!