Mes lecteurs chérie, meet Fletcher, the newest occupant of my fabulous Central Park West apartment. He is a miniature pinscher puppy, with impeccable bredding and a tendency to lick himself when important guests are around. The world is his toilet.
Fletcher is going to be a sizeable small dog, as evidenced by his large front paws. He uses them like paddles, particular when the maid gives him access to my boudior in the morning. I wake to the sensation of paws slapping my face in greeting. Not quite what I would wish for, but he is so adorable that I forgive him.
The loss of Bucky still gnaws at my heart, and when Fletcher came into my home a month ago, I wondered if I could bond with this flailing black and tan puppy. Fortunately, his personality and appearance is quite different from my late darling's. If one had to choose a descriptive word for Fletcher's personality, the word "goofy" comes to mind. I find myself succumbing to his charm.
Il faut être prudent éviter de marcher dans des tas de merde de chien. As cleaning up his messes is the maid's job, I care not where Fletcher relieves himself. As long as it is not one of the rooms that I myself use. The kitchen, pantry, and the servants' quarters are all fair game. I've heard the maid muttering in Spanish as she walks past me, carrying paper towels and something called 'Nature's Miracle'.
Fletcher is not an aggressive dog. Not to worry, I'll have a trainer up here to teach him to bite people without warning in no time.