Once a upon a time, I had a really stupid name.  An incredibly stupid name. In fact, I believe this name lowered my IQ to the point where a formal education would have been a waste. It is good thing that I was born a canine.

In the icy land of Chicago, I was unceremonious dumped in the snow of the ghetto (pronounced ghet-toe) after being weaned from my mother, a lovely golden bitch.  How mother protected me that long, I will never know.  Nor, will I know why a dizzy brunette with a spray-on tan picked me up or why she was there on Christmas Eve, but never the less, I was rescued and taken to the suburbs.

I was introduced into an entirely feline and most assuredly feminine household.  The feline obsessiveness with cleanliness was obvious. Food scraps were never allowed to linger on the floor and the toilet lid was always shut.   The denial of the ability to forage for food and the lack of access to fresh water was intolerable.

It was here, that I was named Noel.  Yep, Noel, which in canine parlance basically means no.  Naturally, I was confused nearly all the time. No…Noel…No.. good boy Noel…It was insane.  I screamed constantly and was rewarded with treats and pets.  The insanity would only deepen in the months to come.

Naturally, I did not even understand the concept of time.  My adopted mother would explain all of these things to me. Her time, however, has not come in my story.   Timing, she taught me was very important; therefore, I must continue in order to respect the lessons that she taught me.

The felines interacted most cruelly with while the mistress was out, but shunned me the moment she walked in the door. Or worse, they would at times, feign interest and play with me in her presence.  Sometimes, they would even attempt to bathe me.

Soon, I developed a fear of any separation from her.  At night, I would snuggle as close as I could without upsetting the feline forces at the head of the bed.  The felines did teach me how satisfying compulsive licking can be.  It has been a coping mechanism that has served me well over the years.

The mistress thought it was cute along with everything else I did, except for when I urinated in the house.  The felines did it, but it was clear on this point my mistress displayed favoritism. They, however, were never chained outside while the mistress attempted to sunbathe in Chicago.

Mistress showered me with praise when I whined or expressed my dissatisfaction in anyway. When I was tied to the lead, she would smile and praise me for trying to reach her. I could never reach her no matter how I tried and this infuriated my sense of justice. How could she praise me when I never completed the task provided; I believe that humans call this having issues.

Occasionally, I would see a tall man shaking his head at her and another man would come up to Mistress and speak with her. I don’t know what they said, but the tall man was generous with his pets and I loved them both. Mistress, however, dismissed them each time they spoke to her. They would turn and walk away, but not before saying farewell to me.