Diary of a supermodel
Don't get me wrong. I was flattered when management appointed me as Animal Outfitters' supermodel - who wouldn't be? But I'm not about to pretend it's been a walk in the park. Quite the opposite. It's got all the glamour of a deworming session.
Firstly, the strictly controlled diet, what's that all about? I'm a schnauzer, I eat, that's my thing. Yes, I do receive the occasional biscuit bribe for keeping still at a photo-shoot but when I say "biscuit", we're not talking about a Toffeepop or Jammie Dodger. No, it's a plain old dog biscuit. Besides, what's a bit of extra weight, haven't they heard of air-brushing?
And then there's the issue of my daily walk. This used to be crazy time, my anarchy hour. I would give a headless chicken a run for their money, tearing through mud, jumping in the sea, sticking my head down holes. Oh no, not anymore. "Rio stop that, Rio come here" they shout, obsessed with keeping me clean and fluffy, smelling of roses. What the? I'm not one of Her Majesty's corgis.
Though my biggest disappointment was finding out that the cat-walk has no connection whatsoever to anything feline or moggie. There was I, eagerly awaiting my strut down the cat-walk, claws at the ready, but it turns out to be a mere figure of speech. OK, secretly I do enjoy the attention. It's great to pose on those stylish pet beds and don those designer collars (check me out in the top grain leather)...but I miss my rough and tumble days.
They say it's a dog's life but it doesn't always feel that way.