Greetings, Humans.

(Two dog pictures in two days. Suddenly, this Slog is a Dog-Blog.)

Humans. Hello. It is I, Lucy. The world's prettiest dog. Kendall's in the other room, watching some episode of Oprah about John Edwards and the man who lied and said Edwards' baby was his. (And, may I ask that the next time you call a fellow human being a "dog," you consider for a moment just how disrespectful you're being to dogs? Thank you.)

Now, Kendall is operating under the serious misapprehension that she is in charge of me for the next few days. She is my alleged "dog-sitter." To which I say, ha. Ha ha. She's not in charge of anything. And I'm finding all sorts of insidious ways to let her know that the one who makes the decisions in this house has got four legs.

1. Whenever Kendall settles in on the couch, or at her computer, I give her a few minutes to start watching a show or writing an email, and then I decide that is the EXACT moment to have a sudden, undeniable BURST OF ENERGY that she must deal with IMMEDIATELY.

2. During one of these aforementioned bursts of energy, I'll act all excited about her finding a toy, and throwing it for me, and then I won't retrieve it. Ever. I'll just bark at her until she retrieves it. Again, and again.

3. When we're on walks, I'll be perfectly well-behaved and happy smelling stuff and looking around, until there are witnesses. As soon as someone is watching, I totally LOSE MY MIND. Thus, making her look the fool in front of one of her fellow two-leggers.

4. At night, when she is ready to go to sleep, I am...not ready to sleep. To let her know, I jump on the bed, circle around, jump back down, go downstairs, come upstairs, jump on the bed, circle round, jump down, downstairs, upstairs, etc.

5. When I am ready to go to sleep, I make sure to lay on her in the boniest way imaginable: my front legs across her shins. She whines about bruises. I'm like, "oh, grow a pair."

6. (The one I'm most proud of.) Whenever Kendall goes to the bathroom, I barge in. And, when she's about to shoo me out, I give her a doleful look--the very look I give her whenever I have to go to the bathroom in the front yard, under her hawkish supervision--that says, "Hey, girlie, fair is fair." And she loses the nerve to shut me out.

The point, dear homo sapiens, is that there's a new boss in town. A new world order is on the horizon, and if you're all as easily manipulated as Kendall, the human race doesn't stand a chance. You've been warned.

Oh, got to jet. She's coming back into the kitchen for more snacks. Will she never stop eating??

In Dog We Trust,

Lucy.