I shopped like I was rabid. I was in Harry Winston’s so often they put in one of those cute little doors. And still…well you get the idea. So, now how shall I put this as to avoid prosicution, I hired a couple of hit cats named Burt and Kurt and had my husband of many years…er months clawed…er whacked…er put down. Oh, whatever. He was on his last legs anyway. Short of his morning runs and that marathon he ran from last year; he was virtually breathing his last.

Well, no good deed goes unpunished. The police found out and misunderstood the whole situation. I was collared, leashed and taken to the Big House. And I’ll never understand that whole, “Big House” title because the rooms are soooo small. And the linens are scratchy, the food is below sub par and they just assume you have fleas. I was dipped more times than a Tostito. My skin still hasn’t recovered but I digress. A Berlin jail was no place for me. I had to get out.

I made some contacts, greased some paws and did a couple of things I’m not proud of and plan to suppress as soon as I write my memoirs. A Rotweiler named Pinky showed me the tunnel one dark and rainy night. Later that week, Bruce, a Chihuahua I shall never forget…a whole chapter in my book…arranged for a blackout to hit the jail. It actually hit half of Berlin and poor Bruce left us nothing to remember her by but teeth marks in a power cable and four tiny char marks in the concrete where she stood. What a set of jaws she had. She ran the laundry room like a tiger…like a short, bitter, out of her mind tiger. Into the darkness I ran and down into that tunnel. I ran and ran and ran. Yes, I stopped to get a quick manicure but you have to start putting your life together sometime. I ran some more. I hit the subway and then the train. I went to Prague, then Amsterdam, and then Paris. Yes, not the most direct route but who am I Benji? This girl just has no sense of direction.

I left Paris for London to finally lay my head down at Clairidge House. That suite was just what the doctor ordered. I began to put my life back together one room service order at a time. You know, what they say about British cooking is completely true but, it beats the offerings in prison. OK, not completely but, you get the idea. I was back on my feet. Now the whole story of how I funded my recooperation is for my book but, let’s just say, there was money under the mattress. And in the cookie jar. And in the safe, in the master bedroom closet, under the old chewed up shoe on the right. I had cash. It was a good thing too, as my credit had been cut off. I was a girl without her black AMX card. And paying cash for your suite at The Clairidge House raises an eyebrow or two. Like a single girl at the bar, if you know what I mean?

Now my time in London began to run out, along with my funds. I had only a limited number of options. Let’s face it, I was a girl of great education but little experience. And that double major of English Literature and Cat Chasing and Disposition seemed to be of little use. Truth is, I kept feeling like Interpol was closing in. Paranoid maybe but it was time to make a change and rely on family. It was time to move to Chicago. Now getting our of London was going to take all of my feminine whils and brains. Just how does a wanted dog get through customs? My last night in London was spent wandering the train stations. And then there it was, the train to Bristol. I ran as fast as I could and lept in the first open car I found. Next stop Bristol and the docks. Once at the docks it was time to find a ship. It was a beautiful day at the docks and I blinked my eyes from the sun. There she sat, like a vision in a dream. I blinked my eyes again and strained my eyes to read the name on her side. Yes! This ship would most certainly do: The Queen Victoria II. Now, without ticket in paw this boarding was going to be difficult but not impossible. The ship was taking on supplies so security would be a little lax. When you’re taking on supplies to feed and entertain two or three thousand passengers the flow of goods is more important than security. I slipped in between boxes, found myself a comfy place in cargo and then waited to ingratiate myself upon some poor, unsuspecting dowager. I hated playing the whole “needy dog” card but you did what needed to be done. Next stopNew York.

The trip was a short six days but what a six days. A cruise ship is not a welcoming place for an unescorted lady of any breed so, first on the list would be finding someone to support me for the trip. I kept out of sight but, available at a moments notice. My opportunity quickly presented itself: an elderly woman was sound asleep by the pool. At her right was a cocktail table resplendent with a very fine martini and on her left was the most beautiful man I have ever seen. He was pure white with one blue eye and one brown. There was a brown patch around his right eye. Lean and muscular, I was panting from more than just the heat of the summer sun. He, too, was asleep. I made my move and slipped silently under the woman’s drooped right hand. She gave me a little scratch behind my ears without even stirring. It felt good. My time on the Queen Mary was as if I was in a romance novel. There was dancing and dinners on the balcony. It came out that my new paramour, shall we say, relied heavily on his looks. He was beautiful but I’ve had cappuccinos with better heads on them. Zeus was his name and I think there was another lady in his life in New York.

We’ll flash forward a bit as I don’t want to give away plot points from my book or the excerps that will certainly be printed in Vogue or Cosmopolitian. I ended up in Chicago at Paws. In a rescue! I was as shocked as you. It was a critical turn of events in my life. Things could have gotton much worse. To my amazement, they did not. As a matter of fact things took a decided turn for the better. I met John and Russell. John is a flight attendant and Russell had a little dog walking business. It was love at first sight. John sat down and I, being exhausted from the daily grind, curled up in his lap. It was the first good nap I’d had in a very long time.

Well, that pretty much brings us to present day. John and Russell brought me to their home and I began to reassemble my life. They began a small company so that they could open a boutique in Roscoe Village. I, on the other hand, began a small company in the Cayman Islands. They issued stock and I bought stock. Now they work for me. Sneaky, no?

As for the rest, the police managed to arrest the two hit cats that attempted to knock off my late husband. As always, the cats are keeping their mouths shut about our past relationship. And it comes out that my poor husband actually died of natural causes. The poor dog had a heart attack while chasing those two cats. He got them up a tree and keeled over right there. Sad, but he died doing what he loved to do. I seem to be out of the woods as far as the police are concerned. Russell and John brought home another dog. Zane…I trust him just about as far as I can throw him. He’s a good-looking dog but I just know he’s up to something. And, let me tell you, he’s the image of that gorgous boxer that saved my skin on the Queen Mary. He’s pure white with a brown spot over his right eye and one blue eye and one brown eye. Ugh! What a beautiful man. Every time he turns his back to me I just have to bit his legs.