Blessings on my Birthday

Today is my 8th birthday.  This certificate outlines my lineage for three generations and shows that I am a rainbow mix of red, apricot and brown toy poodles.

As an aside, you, my faithful fans, know of my ultra close friendship with Santa. In pursuing knowledge of my ancestry, I've learned that my biological father and mother also enjoyed a special bond with the Man: note, their names are recorded as Saint Nicholas and Christmas Day.  Sycophantic names, indeed; but one can't choose one's family. As you know, my own abiding friendship with Santa relies on our bond of mutual respect, admiration & liking. (type Santa is the blog search bar to locate entries about our long-term relationship)

In any case, although today is my birthday, I've received no (almost no) presents. I was expecting 8, one to commemorate each year of my life. Since it's still early in the day, I've decided to post my wish list. You still have about 18 shopping hours remaining:

List of 8 possibles for Mercury's birthday gifts, 2013

A doggie cam (to hang on my collar and record events at my eye level)

A flat TV of my very own

A smart phone, iphone preferred but will accept Galaxy

A huge basket of doggie treats

Real doggie ice cream

A bone  pattern QR Tag

A Crypton Dog Earred Mess Mat

A little baby brother or little baby sister, toy or miniature French poodle, preferably red, apricot, brown or white with apricot ears

Pictured here is the one gift I did receive. Maman and Papa presented me with:   

A leather collar with a diamond and platinum charm in the shape of a Mercedes logo. Needless to say, I was dumb-founded when I opened the package. A collar (symbol of oppression), a Mercedes logo (symbol of rapacious capitalism): no food, no toy, no electronics, not even a fashionable t-shirt.

I won't say this is the worst birthday ever. I won't say I'm ungrateful for what I have received this day (food to eat, a place to sleep, a very brief walk). I won't say I'm counting on you, my fans, to resurrect this day from the doldrums to a very happy birthday high.

All I shall say is: joyeux anniversaire to me!

Mercury's Weekends: always a good time

Have you ever wondered what I do with my weekends? You might assume that, like the Dowager Duchess of Downton Abbey, dogs are indifferent to the weekend concept ("What--- is a weekend?" she inquired.) However, such is far from the case.

Week days are when I follow a routine: early to rise, AM walk, breakfast, an Acorn TV (Brit) movie, nap nap nap, PM walk, supper, a Netflix movie, nap nap nap, sleep for the night. Weekends are, by comparison, a whirl of activities. Of which this photo above signifies only a few.

Below you can watch this embedded viddy (don't worry, it's not really "post apocalypse," that's just Maman's little joke). Then follow the links below (Park 1 and Park 2) to catch just a few seconds glimpse of  each of various outdoor pursuits.

Park 1 (always a good time)

Park 2 (take me to your best friend's house)

Later, of a Saturday or Sunday, I may go for a long drive (in my double sun roofed Mercedes--more on that to come), stop by Five Points to shop for ingredients for cocktails and an al fresco meal. And later don my tux for an evening on the town.

In short, weekends are crazy times-- fun-filled, but hectic, a mad dash, a rush of company, community, sporting events and the seemingly ceaseless round of pleasure ! Thank goodness for the week days when I can relax, returning to the simple life that all dogs treasure as their greatest purpose and their absolute right.

My Grandmere's Special Insight

Maman et Papa thrust me into a crate on my very first night in my new home.

It was early November. I'd endured a 13 hour airplane flight (changed in Dallas), pick up at the freight gate at Hartsfield-Jackson, 1 1/2 hour drive from Atlanta to Athens. And believe me, none of it was first class.

Exhausted and terrified describes us all, me, Maman et Papa. I vividly recall that it was still light out when Maman et Papa drew the (flimsy) curtains, plopped me in my crate, stretched out on their comfortable futon and whispered together, waiting for me to fall asleep.

I overheard this exchange: Maman, "animals always go to sleep when it's dark and quiet." Papa, "should we drape a cloth over the crate?" Maman, "too like a bird cage, but be very very quiet and she'll think it's night." So humiliating for all concerned.

Eight years later, my crate has been transformed into a loft. I have a snuggly bed and I've been promised a TV of my very own. My food is served in a (NYC) Museum of Modern Art bowl and my water goblet is Mondrian patterned.

But they say the more things change, the more they stay the same (in my native tongue: plus ca change, plus ca meme chose; Sorry, no French language key board). Grandmere may not be my biggest fan, but she's a realist and we share a bond of common sense that seems to be otherwise lacking in the Lester Roushanzamir clan. Here's the evidence; she clipped this from the Wall Street Journal and mailed it to me:

[it reads: I'd have to say the biggest lie they tell themselves is 'Oh he likes the crate!'...unbelievable.]

How often have I heard that absurd phrase, "Oh, she likes her crate," and how often have I cringed at its rank absurdity. Still, I suppose Maman et Papa mean well.

And admittedly, they shake and serve a good stiff martini.  Please make it a double.

Helper Doggie

Most of you recognize me as a helper doggie. For those who don't, I wear a helper dog uniform (as seen in the photo).

But perhaps you are not aware that my helper duties are many and varied. See several in this photo/music collage:





Here I serve as sou-chef, bed chamber maid and neighborhood guard dog. And these are but 3 of my many duties.

So next time you see a uniformed helper doggie, please give them the respect they're due. Their skills and talents, like mine, are extraordinary.

Note: you can also view the collage, full screen, by clicking HERE.

My Prince

Today is Father's Day. In honor of my Grandpere who insists on believing that I'm a boy, this video, titled My Prince:



Happy Father's Day to the best Grandpere in the Universe. Love, Murph

Qwiki & my pal Coco

I have a pal, Coco. He's a beautiful fellow, inside and out. He's a dog about whom the phrase "man's best friend" could have been written. Words that describe Coco: mellow, smart, open-minded, friendly, a lover of classic rock and film noir, a loving, kind soul.

Click on my link below to see my brief tribute.

click: Coco's Qwiki visuals with music

Secret Garden

There's an old street, Milledge Avenue, that leads to Athens' 5Points. It's studded with classic southern mansions and older brick homes, most but not all, now housing the sororities and fraternities of UGA undergraduate students. One of these spectacular brick houses appeared to be unoccupied. Original wavey, handblown (?) glass covered the windows, its heavy shutters would keep out the highest winds.

Next door? A secret garden. Bricked in except from the sides, Maman was reluctant to tresspass. Thankfully, one spring morning, I persuaded her.

We may have been among the final visitors for soon, heavy construction implements were rolled in & the secret garden was razed. Now there stands a tasteful but nonetheless brand spanking new mud-brick house, home to many college boys and with a spacious parking lot for their SUVs, Jeeps, and sporty BMWs.

The secret garden was dark and cool, almost magical in its offerings of pretty plants,  mossy rocks, winding pathways and near silence. What a refuge, right off Milledge Avenue, what Maman refers to as the "noisy street," Athens' central north-south through-way. And finally, we stumbled across a small marble seat, placed as if for us only. An oasis for us alone.

The brick house still stands but it seems to be an administrative structure, a house mother of sorts for the brand new frat house. The boys hire a service to keep up their lawn and landscaping, their cars are hidden from view and it's all a nice bit of urban planning.

But my ever lasting thanks to Maman for permitting me to survey the secret garden, now only a memory. In the photo above, you can see the pathway into our very own secret garden, my back yard.

Rumors or Facts

A quick google search of the word rumor unearths this definition: "A currently circulating story or report of uncertain or doubtful truth." You will be the judge of whether what follows is rumor or fact.

Maman and I enjoy editing iPhone photographs and we have downloaded many apps, searching for the greatest flexibility and the combination of apps that will yield photos that match our mental images: rumor or fact?

The photo above, like many photos taken by amateurs, professionals and artists alike, reveal truths that were previously hidden: rumor or fact?

Maman and I are exceptionally talented iPhotographers (still and audio-video): rumor or fact?

Existing in this black & white (blue tinged black) keeps us cooler on this hottest day of summer 2013: rumor or fact?

You be the judge(s).

View our photographs on twitter (Roushanzamir_Ad) and Vine (Elizabeth Roushanzam)