Dear Harley: Well, it's the first day of My Revolution. I'm up at the crack-o dawn with Finnigan who would not let us sleep past five-thirty. We were a bit concerned about the little guy; we watched last night in horror when he swallowed a chew bone whole. You may not know this but I had a two year old retriever years ago who dropped dead after eating a slew of muffins left out by the nanny. So you can imagine how terrified I am that Finnigan will be dispatched by a chew bone while still an infant. I may be paranoid but I still remember the time Oprah's lab choked on a ball. We must be vigilant. These dogs are stupid. I was playing ball with Finnie yesterday and he knocked himself out when he slammed his head against the wall. Given his state of whimpiness and clumsiness, we're thinking of renaming him Sidney Crosby. I digress. Today, I weighed in at 217. It seems I put on two pounds yesterday wolfing down paella, cheesecake and margaritas. Time to ...
More than a million served!