This week I met Grace Rowland, a charming, super frenly English Bulldog who’s gonna be 2 next month. She greeted me an my assistant at the door, an trotted up for the Wag-an-Sniff. Grace had really pretty hair, light tan-ish, with white head, big brown eyes, smushy face, and Totally Adorubble Underbite. “HI! I’m Grace Rowland. (You may call me Gracie if you want to.) THIS is my Dad, Scott, an THIS is our fren Maddy. My Mom’s Marit! She’s elsewhere at the moment and says to say HI!” “Very happy to meet you all,” I said. The minute we got seated in the living room, Gracie plopped onto my assistant’s lap an happily nosed about in the nearby Satchel, which always smells like the duh-lishus bacon snacks within. My assistant was duh-lighted, of course, an provided little pats an ear-friffles. After Gracie had complied with her Dad’s request to crank her en-thusiasm down a coupla notches an Be Gentle, my assistant extracted a coupla snacks, which Gracie accepted puh-litely. I opened my notebook. “So, tell me all about yourself: How’d you find your Furever Famly?” After showering my assistant with several lovely, slurpy kisses, Gracie settled in an began: “Mom an Dad had another English Bulldog buh-fore me, cuz we’re their favrite dog breed. His name was Otis, an 3 years ago he hadda go to Dog Heaven. Mom an Dad said they’d NEVER EVER get another pooch cuzza how sad they were about losin’ Otis, ya know?” “Yes,” I replied. “I hear that a lot.” “Anyway,” Grace continued, “after 1 year, Dad an Mom missed havin’ a dog, so they looked up the same breeder they got Otis from, in muh-ZOO-ree, saw pick-shurs of my litter, an picked ME cuzza my cute-ness. “They hadda wait to ackshully get me, till I was 8 weeks old an didn’t need Mommy Milk anymore. Then, the breeder hoo-man an me got inna big machine with wings an we flew thru the SKY all the way to down here, to a place called TAM-puh, where Mom an Dad picked me up. “Dad says I was beau-ti-full an TINY, jus 6 pouns. Me an Mom an Dad loved each other right away. They named me Grace cuz that’s Dad’s favrite girl dog name. Then they found out that’s the name the breeder had put on my papers buh-for Mom an Dad ever knew me.” “It was Meant To Be!” I said. “What was it like when you first got here?” “Achshully,” Gracie admitted with a liddle grin, “Dad says I was a TERROR for the first few weeks. He says he was thinkin’ of trading me back in on a calmer model, but he was just tee-zing. “Full disclosure, I admit I might have been a tiny bit ram-BUNK-shus. Plus, cuz I was so good in my crate on my trip to here, they thought I’d stay in it at night, an when they were elsewhere. However, I Did Not Like That Crate One Bit! So, well, I guess I was Really, Really LOUD cuz I wanted Outta It! SQUACKIN’ is what Dad says. For a looooong time. “But then, after about 2 weeks of Non-stop Squawkin,’ I decided I ackshully LIKED my crate: It was comfy, cozy an safe. I even sleep in it, ’cept on weekend mornings, when I get to hang out in bed with Mom for an hour or two. So I didn’t get traded in. (I knew Dad wasn’t REALLY gonna do that anyway.)” “What’s life like now? Whaddya do for fun? Any fave foofstuffs? Besties?” I inquired. After bestowin’ a few more slurpy kisses on my assistant, Gracie jumped down, an her Dad began tossin’ a sturdy liddle blue-an-orange ball. Gracie’d take off like a rocket, toenails clickin’ an slip-slidin’ on the tile, grab the ball, zoom back to her Dad, then hang on while he attempted to extract it from her cute-but-powerful underbite. I remarked how tough that ball seemed to be, cuz it always came outta her mouth in-TACK. “I KNOW,” she replied. “See, I get a package in the mail every so offen, called a Bark Box. It’s WAY Crispy Biscuits! It’s got duh-lishus snacks anna TOY. This cool sword toy is one of ’em! (She held it up.) It’s really strong, too. Mom an Dad use to get me stuffies, which I love, but I totally duh-MOLL-ish ’em in, like, 5 seconds. Balls are my favrite, anyway. “I DO havva Bestie,” she continued. “It’s my NAY-ber, Gabbie! She’s a LAB. We play an play. She’s older than me, an I guess I do a lotta bouncin’ an puppy stuff, but she’s very PAY-shunt. Gabbie’s’ Grrrreat! “I’d hafta say my hooman besties are My Gramma Shirley an Grampa Carl. They take care of me when Mom and Dad are elsewhere. They weren’t what you’d call Dog Peeple at first, but they are now (with me at least), cuzza my adorable-ness, I’m preddy sure.” “I’m sure that’s it,” I agreed. “I like car rides a lot, like goin’ to Paw Prints or South Paws: I got LOTSA pooch pals in those places. I’ve been to the beech two times. I really liked runnin’ around in that soap-sudsy stuff on the sand, but not that big buncha water. Anyway, I get Very Damp an Messy so I don’t go that offen. “Oh, an you asked about foodstuffs: Cuz I have a couple con-DISH-uns, I hafta watch my food. An my weight. So I get Just Plain Dogfood. An Charlie Bears treats. “Sometimes me an Dad watch TV, speshully this game Dad calls Football. Two teams of guys run around chasing this funny shaped ball an then they all pile on top of each other. Dad’s team is the Washington Comma-doors. When they play, Dad screams and hollers real loud. At first, it scared the Total Fluff outta me. Now it doesn’t, cuz I know he’s not hollarin’ at ME.” I couldn’t buh-leeve an hour had passed already. Headin’ home, I was picksurin’ charmin’ Grace and her adorubble underbite. An considerin’ my chances of getting’ Gramma an Grampa to order me a monthly Bark Box.