Yellow Dog: a brief autobiography

I am an assertive Pisces of impeccable taste, keen perspicuity, and rare political insight. As a belle lettrist, I survive by the use of my rapier wit and superior intellect, with which I am amply endowed. As a member of the canine blogoratti, I chase the news, chew on the juicy stories, and give my unmuzzled opinion on issues of the day.

My kennel name, Dame Dawg, denotes my English lineage, though sadly, it is too often mispronounced by those given to profane speech. I reside in Branson, Missouri, the entertainment capital of the nation, where I perform for the WOOFIES (Well-Off Old Folks) under the stage name, Yalleau Dawgette—though I much prefer the simplicity of Yellow Dog. Most television savants are familiar with my cooking show, Bone Appetite.

In my spare time I focus on the things that matter to me most—the fresh-baked scent of liver biscotti; a well-flung Frisbee; and a wet-nosed companion snuggled with me upon my L. L. Bean doggie cushion. I am fond of Kibbles, Mohitos, well-saturated fruitcakes, farm ponds, and rawhide chips.

I am a member of the “Bitches of the Ozarks,” the BUNDIES (Blue-coated Underdogs for Freedom), and the National Mushroom Hunters Association.

I maintain a close relationship with Joyce Meyers, Barney (the former First Pooch), and Andy Williams—under whose bed I sleep during the tourist season. On the other hand, I have considerable disdain for Chihuahuas, Republicans, and cats of all varieties.

Among my canine friends are La Rue, a delightful apricot poodle with whom I sometimes travel. I have an occasional romp in the park with such charming companions as Rambo, a Doberman pincher; Seymour, a Germany shepherd, and dear, dear Vladimir, a Siberian husky. And, then, there is Oslo, a suave Norwegians elk hound, who has swept me off my paws more than once.

My motto is: “Let’s all slow down and smell the hydrants.” Any opportunity to nibble the ankles of an odious Republican also adds meaning to life.