I've been so good there's been nothing to blog about.

Really. Comparable to an angel, I would estimate. Mommy has spent all waking minutes between Saturday morning and now doing wedding invitations (i.e. losing her mind). I pop out about once every six hours to stretch from my nap, wag heartily, and be taken for a pee pee. Then I go back to the cat bed Daddy bought me as an engagement present, and am not seen again for another six hours.

Since the weekend, my pee pee walks have shriveled from adventures around the block and beyond to a mere jaunt around the house. Yesterday, as we circled around the side of the house, Neighborhood Dog Nazi was right there, walking his massive and perfectly-behaved Great Dane. Neighborhood Dog Nazi is a very important newspaper columnist (for the Oak Hills Oracle) who constantly threatens to call the police on errant dog owners for their off-the-leash and poopy-bag crimes. Taking a page from the Good Book, he has elected himself Everyone's Keeper. Everyone hates him.

The Neighborhood Dog Nazi uses his literary forum to angrily and bombastically describe the downward turn the neighborhood has taken, thanks to all the crappy dog owners and their free-wheeling pets, which includes everyone but himself and his superior Dane. Neighborhood Dog Nazi can be found patrolling Oak Hills for disorderly canine conduct morning, noon, and night, with his dog that could be mistaken for a petite horse. Every time he walks by the back window, Daddy points him out to Mommy. Daddy once even moaned that his own mother had insisted on inviting him to the wedding and what would we all do then on the day that's supposed to be happy?

Mommy and I had never met him. The closest we came was one time when he was making his rounds a few hundred yards from the house, walking about 30 feet ahead of his crazed and furious wife, who was following along behind and pumping her arm in the air to emphasize her screams at him. We didn't introduce ourselves.

But yesterday we turned the corner and there he was with his enormous steroid of a dog. Mommy's heart froze. She prayed liked never before that I would behave myself and not do anything to incite Neighborhood Dog Nazi to call the police on us. She figured she had about a 90% chance of me walking happily by without making a noise or batting an adorable eyelash. She held her breath. I was silent for a hope-inducing second. Then I flipped the Psycho-Switch.

It was highly imperative that I make clear to the animal that clearly had some oxen in his parentage that just because I was smaller, I would not hesitate to kill him and his family if he stepped out of line. My message was, Don't think you can do anything I don't like. Like breathe, since that's all you're doing, if I disapprove. 'Cuz I'll get you.

Mommy pulled out all the stops. She disciplined me like a true Cesar Millan Disciple. She 'bit' my neck with her fingers. She verbalized her disagreement with the "ch" sound he teaches. She flung me on my back to put me in the submissive position. She eventually ran away with her head down.

I gurgled and roared as she spirited me away. I showed that ox!