My life is so hard sometimes, so please forgive me whilst I indulge myself in a little Pomeranian puppy-pity fest (they don't call it the world's tiniest violin for nothing, just wish I had the opposable thumbs to use it). Just like any A-list pet, I can't seem to go anywhere without being stopped for a stroke, cooed over incessantly by women young and old, it's utterly exhausting (ok, you know I love it). But sometimes, my cuteness gets me into trouble. It's my own fault, really, for strutting instead of walking, giving the people a little Pommy one-two-step as a I tikki tikki my way around Londontown and I know that tail of mine is simply irresistible, beleaguering a bit of a squeeze as it waves haughtily behind me in the air.
|Human: amused. Canine: not so much|
|Capurro worships Jane Turner. Why didn't I get this same reverential treatment???|
Then came Vivienne at last. Be sure to check out Mommy's post on the Clothes Whisperer for the full story. I won't repeat her here but I will say this. After a bit of a diatribe on fame and being famous, Viv explained that for the most part, when people approach her on the street, she obliges. Only once did she ignore a fan. From inside the protected confines of Mommy's white slouchy leather tote, I listened intently to her wise words.
|The ToyToys take the stage|
|My adoring fans...and Uncle Bert|