Hi. My name is Cosmo. I hang out in dog Heaven these days.
It's my second coming, to write a blog for this Newman fellow. It's nice to have one up on Jesus, who we are all still waiting for.
I was the prototypical dog. The first canine to grace the life of Paul, my owner. He was awfully lucky to find me in the big city pound.
This blog, this farrago of articles, would not exist without ME.
Look into my eyes. Keep looking. What do you see? No, not the devil. That's the flashbulb, because Paul doesn't know how to take a picture.
I'll tell you what you see. A handsome dog. Pulchritude at its finest. A clear sign that I wasn't genetically related to my owner.
Note the sexy tan, the slim snout, the shiny coat and the intelligent expression. You can't tell if I just finished a game of chess or ate a high heeled shoe. I'm that good. Far superior to that Newman, that pale excuse for a "dog". A country dog. A redneck.
And what does Paul do? Names me after Cosmo Kramer, instead of far more appropriate people. Real people, like George Clooney, Chris Hemsworth or Samuel L. Jackson.
One time I took down a vicious Bullmastiff with my bare teeth in five seconds flat, and then continued on with my day like nothing every happened, casually plucking Bull fur from my jaws. And Newman? Well, he's afraid of the vacuum.
Newman is cute and all, but scratch below the surface and you don't win the lottery on dogs. You get "Please try again".
I'll tell you, it's no use trying for the alpha dog, or alpha blog writing, because I have to return to Heaven.
Remember this face. We made a great team. Cosmo. Paul. A tan.
