Maybe you didn’t notice, but I’m not like other dogs. For one thing, I know what stylin’ means. You can’t hang out with Mama and not get it. After all, she’s the editor of the world’s best teen girls’ magazine. She handles the shopping for all the fab products we show in SUSIE Mag. And sometimes she even lets me come along.
 

Except to the mall. They don’t like me there. It’s got something to do with the lady I almost knocked over in the food court—or the hot dog I gulped down when her little boy dropped it. Yeah, so, maybe I helped it fall. How was I to know he wanted the whole thing? Kids these days!

As I said, I know about stylin’. Mama’s got that covered in SUSIE Mag, and even when it comes to loading up her own closet. When it comes to my needs, though, let’s just say she’s stuck. Stuck in the Dark Ages.
 

The other day, she had the nerve to drop me off at the groomer’s. If there’s one place I hate, that’s it. They think they can buy us off with that big jar of doggie treats. Ha! It’ll take more than a treat or two to fool my pals and me.

Anyway, the groomers did their usual thing: scrubbing, shampooing, blow-drying, trimming (Ears! I hate it when they mess with my ears!) and making me look the way they think I should. Whatever. I’d much rather shake it off and go roll in the dirt. But the final blow was that stupid scarf around my neck. Try wearing something stamped with tiny Milk-Bones one day. You’ll see what I mean.

Things only got worse when Mama picked me up. “Ohhh, Obie!” she crooned. For once I hadn’t done anything wrong. “You look sooooo cuuuuuuuute!” I love my mama, but that baby talk thing—puh-lease!

That wasn’t the worst of it, though. Mama had errands to run. Riding in the car—no problem. Stopping everywhere we went to show off my new ’do and bandana ? Bigproblem! But what could I do? One small dog, one tightly-tied scarf. There’s gotta be a way to get rid of this stupid thing!

My paws don’t undo knots any better than they type. I had only one option. I whined. And whined. And whined. Puppy eyes, puppy charm—I turned up the talent big-time.

 “Ohhhh, Obie,” Susie crooned again. “What’s the matter? Is that mean old scarf hurting you? Let’s get it off right now! I didn’t know!”
 

Pop. Toss. In what Mama calls a skinny minute, the un-stylin’ scarf flew off my neck and into the back seat. Free at last. I can’t believe I’m free at last!

I hung my head out the window and panted in the breeze. Riding along with Mama, sun shining, tail wagging. That’s my kind of stylin’—every time.