On becoming a star: Part 2

First I got a spiffy velvet robe,  and then Mum threw me a party. You can't believe how many oohs and aahs and belly rubs I got. Well, actually, if you know anything about me at all, you probably can believe the attention I got. After all, the Royal Pooch is hugely popular and handsome and sweet.

 Even though Mum is well known locally because of her columns, she joked that folks would be more interested in seeing me than they would be in seeing her, and you know what?  She was right.  We caught one person on camera saying, “We didn’t come to see the Royal Mum, we came to see Lord Banjo!” Proof positive, I’d say, that I’ve won the popularity contest.

You would have no doubts about my popularity if you could have seen my fans throwing their arms around my neck or neck or kneeling at my paws as they gazed adoringly at me. My loyal subjects came to the Royal Bash bearing gifts!  That’s right; I received a plush purple rug, several squeaky toys, and even brownies.  I hardly got a peek at the brownies before Dad snatched them up. Maybe best of all was the cute little boy who brought his toys to share with me. We two had a grand time playing on the floor together.

If my Great Pyrenees ancestors could see me dressed in my royal robe and crown, I'm convinced they'd be proud of me.  Louis XIV may have declared those gentle giants the Royal Dogs of the French court, but I bet they didn’t have a Royal Bash or a Royal Seamstress. To complement my royal robe and crown, the Royal Mum wore a tiara, and Dad donned a purple robe. The entire family looked spiffy that day—except, of course, Princess Puddin’.  

We didn’t invite my calico sister to the party, and I’m sure she’d have thrown a little fit had we tried to dress her up. Do you think the term hissy fit comes from kitty behavior?  Puddin’ is a sweet girl, but she throws a spectacular fit when Mum brushes her. On those occasions, the entire neighborhood knows the Princess is not happy!  I can only imagine how the fur would fly if Mum attempted to dress her in a tiny velvet cape. Me? I love my new duds and wish Mum would let me wear them more often.  She insists they’re only for special occasions. The rest of the time I must make do with the sporty bandanas the Royal Groomer gives me. 

After the hoopla of the Royal Bash, the Royal Abode seemed unnaturally quiet. I got my usual belly rubs from Dad and a few rubs from Mum as I dozed beneath her desk, but having only two people to make over me was no longer enough. “Hey Mum,” I barked, “You need to fill my schedule with weekly appearances to ensure I continuously get the respect and belly rubs I’m due.” Suffice it to say, those words resulted in a snippy response from Mum, and she proceeded to educate me on the difference between polite requests and rude demands. 

Eventually, Mum calmed down and proceeded to fill my schedule, and I have been enjoying the nonstop adoration ever since. This week I have my third appearance at a local summer camp where twenty-five young campers will hug me and love me and read aloud from my book. Yes, life is good.

Lord Banjo lives in Georgia with his Mum, Kathy Manos Penn. Find similar stories in his book, “Lord Banjo the Royal Pooch,” available on Amazon. Contact him at inkpenn119@gmail.com.