My name is Bernice, and I’m a Yorkshire Terrier.
Frankly, I resent Sadie calling me a nervous traveler in yesterday’s blog. I’ll have you know that I rode in a car, all the way from Cave Creek, Arizona to Spokane, Washington, with my Aunt Jen, without incident. Okay, so I did throw up on one hotel bedspread along the way, but noyorkie’s perfect.
Sadie’s just jealous because I’m a lap dog, and she’s a big, chunky Beagle. Mom tries hard to keep the cuddles equal, but let’s face it, I’m easy to pick up and hold. With Sadie, you’d need a forklift.
We have all kinds of nicknames, Sadie and I, and we answer to all of them. Snuggle-bug. Beeg. Porky Yorkie–and those are just a few. (And I am NOT, as it happens, ‘porky’.) There’s a really long one I don’t actually understand, too–Who’s-Responsible-for-This? Whatever it is, I think it’s the reason Mom is always having carpets torn out and replaced with something she can mop. (Like she ever mops. She doesn’t even know how to turn on her own vacum cleaner, but this is a big secret, so please don’t tell.)
She bought me a tiara once, in an airport gift shop. (Los Angeles, of course.) I don’t know what gets into humans sometimes. And my two-legged sister, Wendy, sent me a cowboy outfit of all things. Hello? I’m a girl. Mom says I’m a little cruise director, and should have a clipboard and a pair of rhinestone trimmed glasses hanging around my neck on a chain. It’s true that I like to instigate things, and I’m forever investigating. Around this house, it’s called “Bernice Reporting”, like I was starring in a TV show or something. I just want to be in the know, that’s all. Knowledge is power.
God told me to come down here and be cute. And I’m doing a great job of it.