Golly, I was tiny.

French lavender is mm-mm-yummy. What dirt on my chin?

There's Meg. She knows I'm fierce but she's not impressed.

My perfect bite. I get that from my daddy. Grrrr.

Don't I look like the sweetest thing?

I'm all calm and settled.

I want to go to the bunny field with Petey.

I could probably kill a bear.

Inside what crate? I'm not supposed to be in a crate.

No, really. I didn't chew the arm of the chair.

Maybe it was Meg. What? Meg doesn't come to work?

Well . . . uh . . . .

Makita, you're making me stinky.

Here I am with what they call Jill's Jack.

I killed it and all the stuffing came out. The lady sewed up the rips but it still leaks fluff.

Now it's merely a skin of a Jack. Jill's Jack: may it rest in peace.

It seems to be empty . . . and it wasn't me who had a wee nip.

It's not a cigar. It's my lamb bone.

Oh, woe! I'm alone. Who will play with me?

What?!? What??

Whose tail is that? Is that my tail?

I'm far from home in Wisconsin, but I've got Pink Pig so I'm not worried.

I don't have nearly enough toys. Someone tell Santa.

Oh it feels so good.

Now is it wise to leave me beside this fox coat?