"The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's." – Mark Twain, Letter to W D Howells, 4/2/1899

Fifi.


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Fifi has amazingly short legs, but I didn’t hold it against her. After all, my legs are not that long either. 

Fifi has a mistress just like me. Well, not exactly like me. Her mistress doesn’t have to work, and she has a passion for French pastries. So much so, that their daily walk always manages to include a stop at ‘La Petit Patisserie’. She doesn’t always buy something, ‘I’m watching my weight, you know’, she would say to Fifi as they stand outside the little shop. Fifi isn’t sure what that means, but she doesn’t waste any time worrying about it, her mind is on the butcher’s shop which is only four doors down the street.

Fifi’s mistress is very pretty, and so is Fifi, so you can imagine how pleased I am when they come for a visit.

Good taste prevents me from mentioning what we get up to on those visits, but it is enough to say that I like French girls and Fifi likes Scottish boys.

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