Tag Archives: Spies

Undercover Maltese

I have witnessed my sisters and brothers use Mother’s light square to talk to you all. In my position, I’m no stranger to technology, but I’ve been trying to avoid telling my story because it will blow my cover. You see, I’m not a dog in the regular canine sense. I’m a Designed Operational Guard, or DOG for short.

Here I am, undercover as a stupid dog in a dress.
Here I am, undercover as a stupid dog in a dress.

You may not realize this, dear humans, but you all go about your lives watching your noisy story windows and eating Cheetos (I do love when Mother shares Cheetos) without noticing the dangers that surround you. I follow my mother more than the other humans, as she appears to be the queen bitch. I mean this in the regular canine sense, not in your silly human way. Every time mother moves, I fall in behind her to vocally alert her to such dangers as:

  • Invisible evil spirits that make the trees move.
  • Other humans approaching our territory.
  • Small humans near the property balanced on numerous things with wheels.
  • Suspicious canines shouting propaganda in the grassy areas near our home.
  • Feathered drones, armed with white poison, landing in the trees to spy on us.
  • The uniformed agent who places unknown items in a box near the property.
My true identity
My true identity

Whenever I alert Mother to these dangers, she uses her angry human voice and says something that sounds like, “Shut your pie hole.” I’m not entirely sure what that means as I have never eaten nor defecated pie. The woman is not easy to guard due to her harsh temperament and the fact that she is constantly moving from room to room and saying things like “vacuum” or “pig sty.” I have trouble keeping up in my standard issue short legs. If only headquarters had thought to give me longer legs with optional wheels. I will continue to alert mother, even though she does not appreciate it. It is my duty and the woman clearly needs my help as she does many dangerous things, like:

  • She leaves the home without a leash or the protection of a crate.
  • She opens the front protective barrier when strange humans make ringing noises.
  • She sheds her fur and bathes ON PURPOSE.
  • She refuses to eat feces for the extra vitamins.

Aside from protecting mother, I have other duties.  Here they are:

I guard my older sister Boo Boo.
I guard my older sister Boo Boo.
I am a professional slipper warmer.
I am a professional slipper warmer.
I take harmful food away from the cats, for their protection.
I take harmful food away from the cats.
I protect father from Mother's image gathering machine.
I protect father from the image gathering machine.

Clearly, I have my work cut out for me.  I’ve been on the job 10 years, and I will continue to serve and protect. You probably doubt my might based on my size, but I will have you know that I am the tug-of-war champion in this house, even when I oppose Sophie, a moose-like traditional canine. She is not a trained guard like me, but I use her as backup. I leave you with this video evidence of my might.



SO NOT James Bond

Well, it is almost summer, and you know what that means.  No. I’m not talking about swimming, tanning, vodka lemonade, or golf.  I’m talking about the end of the television season.  All of the good shows will be on hiatus, including my current favorite, The Americans.  If you have not seen The Americans, you should start watching it, especially if any of the following sounds familiar:  Cold War, President Reagan, voodoo economics, Jordache, reliable American cars. I don’t want to give too much away because I want everyone to watch the show so it doesn’t get cancelled.  Basically, The Americans is about Russian KGB agents who pose as average Americans during the cold war.  It has all of the makings of a great show, suspense, espionage, violence, and 80’s music.

The Americans Watching the first season of the Americans started me thinking.  Could I be a spy?  Felicity, I mean Keri Russell, makes it look so easy.  She is downright ferocious, definitely tougher than her “husband” Matthew Rhys.  It’s a good thing he is a cutey because he is a wimp.  Anyway, after a lot of thinking/day dreaming, I’ve decided that there is no way I could be a spy, and here is why.
First of all, I hate any physical discomfort with a white-hot passion.  This is also why I’m not an athlete.  So, I could not take a beating and keep quiet. One slap and I would be singing.

Second, I am a Native Floridian, and I do not tolerate cold temperatures.  All the enemy would have to do is set me in a walk-in freezer or a hotel conference room for 10 minutes and I would gladly hand over the microfilm.  Why is it always microfilm? Maybe it’s a jump drive now since it’s not the 80’s anymore.

I am not a nice hungry person.  At all.  Maybe this would work in my favor, now that I really think about it, because I could probably kill a room full of spies for a plate of pasta.

I have the bladder of a flea, so I would have to pee within an hour of captivity. All they would have to do is give me a large glass of iced tea and show me a nice clean bathroom. I would be singing.  I would probably be dancing, too, as I would have trouble holding it while I gave the information necessary to gain access to that porcelain heaven.

Unlike a lot of people, I HATE to travel.  Planes make me nervous and any change in my diet gives me, how do I put this delicately, stomach issues. Spies pretty much have to travel and eat weird things.  I mean, that is in the job description.

Finally, the thing that would really keep me from being a spy is my big mouth.  I would blog about my job or make snarky comments on Facebook and tag the Russian embassy.  If I am irritated, the world knows.

A few months ago, I had an outpatient procedure that required a ”prep.”  You can just put two and two together there, MMKAY.  Anywho, apparently, when I was coming out from under anesthesia, I expressed my hatred for Fort Wayne, IN, the town we lived in before this one.  I have no recollection of doing this.  So, this started me thinking.  What do spies do when they have anesthesia? Surely, they say things they aren’t supposed to, right?  Does another agent wait in the recovery room with the ill spy and shoot him or her if too much information is spilled?

So, basically, I’m going to stick to my day job.  I work from home in my jammies, and I can eat whatever I want.  Plus, I looked online and both the CIA and FBI are very unlikely to accept a chubby, 41 year-old, um, I mean skinny 27 year-old, mom to help them win the war on terror.  Oh, well.