Pulp Fiction.

Hi, all.  This is Ziggy, quite possible Seattle's Cutest Puppy.

Seriously.

I get, "Awwww, cuuuuuuute puppy!" remakrs from people I don't even know.  Virtual strangers, who look like they might otherwise pass by Jamie without so much as a "have an apple," stop, lean over, and pat pat pat me on the head.  Well-mannered children even want to play with me.

And who wouldn't?

Roster of puppy activities, as documented by Jamie's somewhat lacking iphone skills.  (This would be a lot more interesting if I had command of her iphone.  Namely, I wouldn't be bothering you with pictures.  I would be telling you how much fun I had chewing half a grand worth of plastic and electronic bits.)

Any way.  I digress:  

I sleep:

I also lay in repose:

And I'm an expert in "crashing out":

Did I mention I also play?  I am a fiend?  And a human finger/toe/clothing seeking little missile.  Not that you can tell from any of my videos, as I'm having technical difficulties (hey, I am only a puppy folks; did you master web browsing, blogging and video-publishing all in the first 8 weeks of your life?  I rather thought not.)

I promise to get Jamie to rectify this fix this shortly.

Love,

Ziggy, who does more than sleep, I promise
  
P.S.  Jamie says something about having me "obedience trained."  There's that "training" thing she clearly can't disavow herself of.  Foolish woman.  If only I had opposable thumbs, I would not have left the kennel door open last night after a late night trip to the loo.  This "obedience" book, as Jamie has it, suffered said fate:

 
Book, zero.  Ziggy, one.   (And yes, Jamie woke up before I  managed to consume the whole dull cellullose lot.  Why do people keep these things around, any way?  So full of wood pulp boring.