Maybe I should have told you this before, but it just didn’t seem important. I am a Labradoodle. Actually, I am a miniature Labradoodle. Mom says people only hear what they want to hear and I guess they don’t want to hear the word “miniature” because when anyone asks my mom what I am, she says: “He is a miniature Labradoodle,” and they say: “Really? My friends have a Labraodoodle but he is twice as big,” and Mom says, “That’s because he is a mini” and they say, “Oh! Wow!”
Lots of people have never heard of Labradoodles, which is kind of surprising, I think, but Mom says that’s okay because Sara Palin doesn’t know that Africa is a continent.
A Labradoodle is just like what it sounds: a cross between a Labrador and a doodle. Oops. I mean a poodle. My real dad was a 14-pound poodle the color of a Hershey’s chocolate bar (yum!), and my mom was a 38-pound Labradoodle. She was beeeeeeeautiful. She had long wavy hair the color of whipped cream and peanut butter mixed together. She was so pretty and she smelled so good and I loved her so much that I licked her face all day long until one day my new mom came and kidnapped me.
Let me ‘splain. I was born on a fancy farm in Virginia with big black gates, where lots of baby doggies are born. One day, I was playing with my brothers when we were so little that none of us even had names but still I knew who they were. We didn’t put labels on each other. We just played and peed and pooped and slept and played and peed and pooped and slept. Oh, and we ate a lot. So one day we were playing as usual when one of the two-legged humans who came to give us food picked me up and handed me to another two-legged human with hair just like mine. I was scared at first but then I licked her face and I forgot everything before because I am a dog and dogs live in the moment.
She put me in the big metal machine that goes places. We stayed there for a long, long time because Mom said we had to go to Yew Nork, where I was going to live. I was a good boy and even when I peed on my Aunt Christy, they said I was a good boy. People are very funny but I don’t mean funny-funny. I mean funny-weird.
After I was kidnapped, the human person was my mom. She is much taller than me and she stands on two legs but her hair is just the same as mine, which is no coincidence. She says she picked me on purpose because she said that she didn’t want me to know I was adopted until I was older. I guess I am older now because I know, but the truth is I knew from the Beginning of Knowing. I am a dog and she is a human person so how could I not be adopted? Just because I am a dog doesn’t mean I am stupid.
My hair is the color of dulce de leche. It feels stiff like dried twigs instead of fuzzy, like socks (which I like a lot, a lot). Some people say I am “wiry” but I don’t know what that means because it is the only hair I ever had. Actually, that is not true. I change hair all the time. We call it “shedding” I’m not supposed to shed but mom says that’s what makes me Special. Like the Olympics.
