I have heard that you are like your dog (or is it the other way around?). If so, what does this mean about me? No, don’t answer that.

I spent a long time last night trying to comb my poodle Giselle’s ratted ears and endured her wrath, over and over again, as she was convinced her dreadlocks looked BEAUTIFUL and there was really no need for a grooming.

Her current nickname is Cake Face, because on St. Patty’s Day, I went downstairs and found her in the middle of a pile of cake that she ate, rolled around it and smeared all over her face. She didn’t even get sick — at all. Imagine that. I would have been sick, and I’m not even a 10-pound poodle. The cake happened to be green, which looked really lovely covering her apricot coat. Maybe she just didn’t want to get pinched.

Giselle also really enjoys jumping up on the kitchen table. She recently jumped up on the table and ate my entire plate of alfredo. Then she got mad at me when I scolded her because, obviously, all my shouting was really upsetting her after-dinner digestion.
My dogs make me laugh so hard. So there you have it. The recent  hilarities of my little Jersey Girl, aka Cake Face, aka Belly, Bazelle, Poopzilla, Zell, Babell, soon to be renamed Bob Marley for her cake-and-alfredo-dreadlocks. (Dog nicknames have to be the worst!)