ARF security conference

Greetings, my flock. I come to you from an undisclosed location in central Oklahoma, where I have convened an emergency summit to discuss the urgent security issues facing the ministry. I met last night with Rabbi Jake and my new cousin Bruce, who also made the trek from the Dallas area. The three of us began with a thorough security sweep. We marked off several hundred yards of curbside property, claiming it for the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF). With a secure cordon around our meeting place, we went to work under the abundant stars. The talks sometimes got testy. I won't lie, my flock, a few growls were exchanged. A security crisis within the ministry has a way of ratcheting up the tension. But ultimately, we knew we were working toward the same purpose.

You may think that Bruce, being less than 4 months old, is too young to sit in on such high-level talks. But he is rather advanced for his age, and he is eager to learn. Plus, he is tall enough to knock the food off the humans' table.

Infidels conspire against us

The ministry's headline crisis is over. Praise Allah! But this incident shows how our reliance on the Internet leaves us vulnerable. On a whim, a rogue programmer at Blogger was able to interfere with my sermons. This is unacceptable. Unacceptable, I say! Because the plotters in this conspiracy have not all been identified and dealt with, I am raising the collective hackles of the ministry to Code Red. With the first-ever Pug Life telethon right around the corner, we cannot afford any further disruptions.

Several new security measures are being enacted to ensure that the telethon, tentatively scheduled for July 20, will go off without a hitch. I have diverted fur from our patriotic ribbon program to be used in life-like decoys -- decoys that will be positioned around the ministry, making it impossible for any would-be evildoers to determine my true location. These carefully molded piles of fur have the look and feel of a real pug and will even be dressed in stylish ayatollah attire. The late Saddam Hussein employed a similar strategy to great effect, and I am confident that it will provide another layer of security as the ministry sniffs out those who would do us harm. Be vigilant, my flock.

Is anyone else on Blogger unable to write headlines for their posts? For days now, this problem has persisted. I click in the headline box, yet no cursor appears. How can I properly convey my message without a headline? Perhaps some infidel is trying to sabotage my teachings, to torpedo my burgeoning ministry. Could it be an atheist chew toy? A feline? A rival religious faction? God willing, I will get to the bottom of this.

EDIT: Thanks to Upwiththesun, my sermons will no longer be incomplete. This is one "improvement" that Blogger should have skipped.

The chain gang

Over the last week or so, I have noticed many stories in the news media about humans chaining themselves to doghouses. The movement seems to have taken hold from coast to coast. The motive: to protest the tethering of dogs. This strikes me as a worthy endeavour. While I can see instances when chaining a canine in the yard would be acceptable -- when you want to do some gardening in the front yard and need the aid of a dog's green paw, for instance -- it is generally to be frowned upon. Allah blessed us with four legs so that we might roam and claim new territory, and being chained up is counter-productive to His intentions.

Many of the humans taking part in these protests made a point of letting their canines run free while they were shackled, and this is a move I whole-heartedly applaud. These humans will find the transition to canine rule under the coming Pugistani theocracy to be much easier than their less-forward-thinking brethren.

News of the beard

The competition is fierce in the canine beard and moustache contest, but that isn't the only news of the day. Jackson, the contest's organizer, has informed me that the humans in charge of the original World Beard & Moustache Championships want to display images of the canine contestants at their event on Sept. 1 in Brighton, England.

This will be an excellent opportunity to expand the ministry's reach while also showing the humans what a real beard looks like.

New protege

On Saturday, I welcomed a new canine to the congregation. My uncle adopted Bruce, a Lab puppy, from a shelter in Carrollton and stopped by to introduce him to me. "Ayatollah," he said, "I want Bruce to learn from you how to be a 'good dog.' Can you take him under your wing and mentor him?"

"Yes, my human child," I replied. "I will work with your large-pawed pup. For a small fee."

After receiving a biscuit in payment, I took Bruce out in the back yard to get a baseline of his skills. He possessed excellent athleticism and keen ball-fetching ability. He was a fast runner, but not as fast as yours truly. Yes, my flock -- despite this graying beard, the ayatollah can still tuck tail and fly.


Bruce's drinking form -- splashing much of the water out of his bowl -- differed from mine. But it proved effective all the same. Once the humans began to feast on their lunch, Bruce and I made our way inside. The pup displayed food-seeking techniques beyond his years, using his height to full advantage and nearly making off with slices of pizza on multiple occasions. It was apparent that with practice and a slightly refined technique, he could become a true begging prodigy.

Finally, it was time for Bruce to go. His parents had a date with PetSmart and one of those cages the humans like to euphemistically call "crates." I took young Bruce aside. "You are off to a fine start, my canine protege," I barked. "When next we meet, I will introduce you to rawhide."

Wish me luck

Jackson, a wire fox terrier in the United Kingdom, is hosting a canine beard and moustache contest. I think this could be right up my alley.

From the heavens

I was patrolling the back yard, making sure no infidels had intruded upon my lush carpet of weeds interspersed with grass. The fence line marks my domain, and a good ayatollah must be ever-vigilant about re-asserting his territorial claims. Who knows what that scissor-tail flycatcher is up to -- is he just passing through, or are his motives more sinister? Either way, a gruff bark will send him fluttering on his way. As I sniffed the perimeter, a loud thunderclap raised my hackles. I felt a cool drop on my back, and then another. Then came the deluge. Before I could even scratch the door to make it magically open, my fur was drenched. My tail, heavy with the accursed rainwater, sank almost to the concrete.

Allah, we converse daily. Couldn't you have given me some warning?

Travel blog updated

I finally got around to posting some photos from Prague on my travel blog. Click here if you'd like to take a look.

Productive weekend

Progress. It is a beautiful word, and one that I believe applies to my weekend with Rabbi Jake. As you know, we have a long-term, mutual interest in bringing peace to the Middle East. It is one of my top personal goals as head of Pug Life Ministries -- perhaps not as high on the list as universal access to rawhide or canine suffrage, but important nonetheless. And this weekend, we put our snouts to the grindstone to try to make it happen. The situation looked bleak. Factional fighting had shattered any semblance of Palestinian unity, and the peace process had long been dormant. But lo and behold, what do we see after an exhausting weekend of talks?

Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas has told President Bush that now is the time to resume Mideast peace talks. Not only that, but Abbas said this with great urgency. A sense of urgency that comes only from being leaned on by a strong-arm pug backed by the world's greatest canine military machine, the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF). Allahu Akbar! God willing, a humble pug and a curmudgeonly schnauzer will change the world.

Schnauzer houseguest

I am awaiting the arrival of Rabbi Jake, my longtime friend and the head of the Jewish wing of Pug Life Ministries. Given the rapidly deteriorating situation in the Middle East, we felt it necessary to do whatever we could to promote peace in the region. So we are convening an emergency summit to try to talk some sense into the feuding factions. I am less optimistic now than I was during our last attempt, but we must give it a shot. Otherwise, we will never win a Nobel Peace Prize.

Even if our appeal for peace fails, we can still do some much-needed preparation for the upcoming Pug Life Telethon. Rabbi Jake tells me he knows where we can get a great deal on kazoos.

Since I been gone

Since we last corresponded, I have been busy organizing the greatest spectacle of a telethon this world has ever seen. Just yesterday, recording star Kelly Clarkson canceled her summer tour so that she could devote all her energies to a telethon performance. "Though I am sacrificing potentially millions of dollars," she said, "it is worth it to help my fellow North Texan and spiritual adviser. Without the ayatollah, I would be nothing." I have been in talks with other celebrities as well, and I believe you will be pleased with the star-studded mix that awaits on telethon day. More details to come.

Stroke of genius

My friends, I have an exciting announcement to make. While nursing on my monkey foot, I entered a place of perfect calm and clarity. My mind focused, and I understood Allah's plan like never before. And then it hit, smack-dab in my already-flattened face: an epiphany. An idea that touches on all the key missions of Pug Life Ministries -- spiritual outreach, charity, fundraising. My friends, this will be a milestone in canine history. What is it, you ask? I will tell you. A telethon!

Yes, like the great Jerry Lewis before me, I will be holding a telethon. What better way to raise the ministry's profile in France? Allah willing, there will be more exciting details to come.

Sole obsession

Good day, faithful adherents of canine Islam. I regret that I have not had time to post in recent days, but I have been incredibly busy. With what, you ask? I have been suckling the monkey foot. By nursing at the toe of my stuffed monkey, I have gained incredible clarity, finding a place of zen, if you will. My intensity in these sessions with the monkey has grown legendary around the ayatollah compound. The outside world is of no concern to me; it is just me and the slobber-hardened monkey foot. So great is my single-minded focus that my mother has described it as "really creepy." But she is a mere human; how could she be expected to understand this higher plane of enlightenment? The humans have tried to capture a photo of these monkey-suckling, chi-channeling moments, but to no avail. The camera distracts me, and the moment is gone, quickly fleeting into memory like my morning kibble.

But I have found a photo here, in the ministry's archives. He is the orange-eyed primate to the left of the Blue Satan. Don't panic, however; I am not cavorting with the enemy. Intensive counseling sessions have broken the monkey of his revolutionary brainwashing. He was, deep down, a good monkey who fell in with the wrong crowd. And as a former juvenile delinquent, I understand as well as anyone the importance of a second chance. The monkey's sole allegiance is now to the ministry, and he has put his best foot forward to prove it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to.

Incident involving the pope

I know that there has been great concern within Pug Life Ministries today over an incident involving Pope Pius Pug. Let me assure you all that he is doing well. The pontiff, head of Pug Life's Catholic wing and my longtime business partner, was going for a spin at the Vatican when a deranged man tried to jump into his popemobile. My sources in the Swiss Guard tell me that this man, a German, was screaming "I must feel the fur! The soft, soft fur!" as he reached out for the pope. Fortunately, members of the pope's ARF security detail were able to quickly wrestle the assailant to the ground, disorienting him with copious amounts of slobber before shackling him with a choke-chain collar.

This man is now being transferred to Syrian custody for "interrogation."

Pugaday.com appearance

Greetings, future citizens of Pugistan. A photo of me in my last Pug-O-Ween garb was recently chosen for display on Pugaday.com, and I was happy to be able to add to the daily parade of pugs there. But it was insinuated in the comments that perhaps I should feel shame for being dressed in such a manner. So let me set the record straight.

I am secure enough in my ayatollahhood to show the world my yellow, modified-from-the-toddler-aisle Pugly Duckling suit, complete with its masculine tuft of white fuzz on top -- just as I am comfortable sharing images of my crimefighting outfit and my equestrian gear. And all other canines should feel free to don a costume as well. Let no human tell you otherwise. If we cannot let our turbans down for Pug-O-Ween, when can we?

The fur flies

As the temperature rises, my desire to spend time outdoors diminishes. We pugs are a temperate breed. The Texas heat does not suit us, and so we thank Allah for the air conditioning and morning walks that help us through these not-so-dog days of summer. But it is said that every ozone cloud has a silver lining. In this case, that silver lining is piling up on my carpet and furniture as we speak. Thanks to God's brilliant plan, I have shed enough fur in the last week for a batch of 5,000 additional patriotic ribbons. Order yours today.

Not so fast ...

I am concerned, my flock. I fear that the natural order of things is in danger. Credible intelligence reports indicate that my parents have considered buying a device intended to slow down my eating. Perhaps they are well-meaning, but this simply will not do. As my extensive research has shown, a pug must eat each meal in 24 seconds or less to operate at peak efficiency.

Too fast, you say? Nonsense. As any capitalist pug knows, time is money. Every second wasted actually savoring my food is a second that I am not working on a sermon, healing the sick or collecting donations. Do you think I built the religious empire that is Pug Life Ministries -- complete with my astonishing two-figure annual income -- by stopping to smell the roses? No! I stop to smell the mailboxes, certainly, but that serves a purpose -- a purpose that I am sure my canine congregants are enlightened enough to understand.

I must stay focused, with no distractions. When I dine, I dine. And let no human stand in my way.

A Memorial Day message

Hi, everybody. Mallard here. The ayatollah is busy visiting the Kong of the Unknown Shih-tzu, so he asked me to relay a special Memorial Day message from him. Here it is:

As Pug Life Ministries moves ever closer to its goal of establishing a utopian canine society, it is important to remember who makes it all possible. Without the troops of the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF), our freedoms would vanish at the first sign of aggression. Without their bravery, we would all be living under the harsh regime of the infidel Blue Bull, deprived of our rawhide and the rule of Sharia law. So if you see a soldier, give him a pat and a bone -- even a handshake, if his trick repertoire is that advanced. And thank him for all that he's done. Brave soldiers of the ARF, I salute you.

Let me second the ayatollah's moving tribute to our fighting men and women. Oh, and if anyone sees the Unknown Shih-tzu, tell him that Mugsy was just keeping the Kong warm for him and that he knows nothing about any missing biscuits.

Not one of my finer moments

Some of you may have seen my recent split-screen appearance on The View, as it has been replayed ad nauseum on various TV shows. To put it bluntly, this was not a moment I was proud of. I had intended to be a mediator, a peacemaker between Rosie O'Donnell and Elisabeth Hasselbeck. But the venom in the studio got the better of me, and I entered the fray. As the religious thinker Confucious once said, "A catfight is no place for a dog." And he was right. I regret some of the statements I barked and some of the, er, gestures I made. And although I accept full responsibility for my actions, I suspect that they were not entirely my own. That's right, Barbara Walters, I am putting you on notice. If I am able to prove that you put some kind of mind-altering, anger-inducing substance in the on-set water bowls, you will be hearing from my attorneys.

Mugsy's Prague Spring: Part V

Part V: Battle Royale

(Click here to read the previous installment)

"I am your father." My heart skipped a beat as I considered the implications of what Blue Bull had just said to me. His fuzzy chest heaved as he sat plastered to the stone wall, his lone eye studying my face.

"Blue Bull ...," I said, carefully considering my words. "Do you take me for a fool?!?" I am an AKC-registered, pure-breed pug -- with the papers to prove it. My biological father's name is Cowboy, you infidel. How dare you besmirch his good name?"

The Blue Satan stammered, caught in yet another lie. I tore into him with my fearsome teeth, honed by a thousand chew sticks. After swinging the Bullshevik coward backward, I hurled him through the tower's eastern window. "Noooo!!!!" he cried, his voice trailing off before being silenced in a cloud of stuffing. And then, as if on cue, the dogs of Prague descended on that spot, rending Blue Bull limb from squeaking limb. Each took a bite of blue, a pinch of cotton. Souvenirs of this great moment in canine history were dispersed across the city. By the time I had reached street level, all that remained was an eye patch. And thus was completed the defenestration of Blue Bull.

"Allahu akbar!" I barked. "Allah's will be done! Now, who wants lunch?"

The End

Pray it ain't so

I have been frantically working the phones this morning, trying to get to the bottom of a disturbing news story. Given that it is only being reported by one media outlet, I am beginning to doubt its veracity. I am always skeptical until I see a story on Fox News, where the network reports and I decide. But for the curious among you, a link to this bombshell of a story is below:

Dog Breeders Issue Massive Recall of '07 Pugs

A fair offer

I have been in tense negotiations today with the American Postal Workers Union. At issue was a new study showing that dogs have been biting mail carriers less frequently. This reduction in violence coincides with my rising stature in the canine community, and it is clear that my teachings have had a positive influence. Although militant canine Islam has its place, it is imperative that we strive to reduce senseless violence. We must channel our energy in ways that would be pleasing to Allah. At the same time, the postal workers must live up to their end of the bargain. To that end, I have made this offer: I am prepared to wield my influence to reduce dog bites 40 percent over the next year. In exchange, I expect the union membership to agree to a 40 percent reduction in junk mail.

I am so proud of you

DALLAS (AP) -- Police clashed with demonstrators Tuesday in a second straight day of violent protests against the Subway sandwich chain.

Protesters said they were angry over a slight against their supreme ayatollah, Mugsy, the mysterious founder of Pug Life Ministries. "Our imam must be treated with the utmost respect, always," said Robert Barnes, an Oak Cliff dentist. "We demand an apology, and perhaps a free sandwich."

Police Lt. Horace Jebs said the demonstrators in downtown Dallas first chanted anti-Subway slogans and burned an effigy of corporate spokesman Jared Fogle. "But we had to move in and break it up when they tried to ignite a massive pair of jeans," Jebs said. "That could have taken out a whole city block."

Mugsy's Prague Spring: Part IV

Part IV: A Tip and a Confrontation

(Click here to read the previous installment)

As the nearby Astronomical Clock rang out, the shopkeeper walked outside, reaching for her keys. With no time to think, I ran. My gambit worked; she did not spot the fawn blur sliding between her ankles as she closed up shop for the night. The door locked behind me, trapping me inside the marionette store. Though I had made it this far, my mission was far from over: Hundreds, maybe thousands, of marionettes surrounded me. I began my search, surveying the peasants, witches, jesters, minstrels and more that made up the inventory of the finest marionette shop in all of Prague. Most were top-quality, costing thousands of Crowns apiece. How would I find the one the sorcerer had dubbed "the most perfect puppet"? It seemed an impossible task. I moved into a back room, even bigger than the first. And then, I saw her.

Though the lighting was sparse, she positively glowed. Her wool was soft; her eyes sparkled with sincerity and emotion. Her features were perfect, as if carved by Allah Himself. Certain that this was the marionette I sought, I called out to her.

Her head tilted. "Your Holiness," she said, "is that you? It is, isn't it?"

"I am Mugsy, supreme ayatollah of Pug Life Ministries," I barked. "I come seeking information on the infidel Blue Bull."

"Then you are in the right place," she said.

This most enchanting of all sheep then told me the story of how she had come to know of Blue Bull and his insidious plot. "You notice all the marionettes in this city?" she asked. "That is why Blue Bull chose Prague -- he wants to set up a puppet regime through which to spread his Godless communist ideology. If we do not stop him now, history will repeat itself in Eastern Europe."

"Tell me where to find this Bullshevik coward, and I will put a stop to his reign of terror once and for all," I said.

"He has an apartment in the Powder Tower," she said. "God be with you, my ayatollah."

After realizing that I couldn't reach the lock to let myself out, I curled up under the shopkeeper's desk. Justice would have to wait till sunrise.

[INTERMISSION: Please feel free to use the restroom, make popcorn or get up and stretch your legs. Click here for a brief musical interlude.]

The creaking door and its accompanying rays of sunlight awakened me. As the shopkeeper walked in, I sprang for the medieval courtyard of the Ungelt. "Ack!" she screamed, jumping as I sprinted past her. "My apologies for your carpet," I barked over my shoulder. "It was a long night, and I drank a lot of water at dinnertime."

I was soon at the Powder Tower. I had passed the 13th-century landmark two days earlier, unaware of the evil that lurked inside. But this time, Blue Bull would not escape my righteous wrath. I made my way up the cramped spiral staircase, whose ceilings seemed low even for a pug.

Panting heavily, I searched the first floor. Though I found no sign of the Azure Devil, I did encounter a woman behind a counter who demanded that I pay 100 crowns to continue. After doing so, I moved onward and upward, searching the next floor, and then the next.

Finally, the staircase turned into a ladder, poking through a wooden floor at the apex of the gothic edifice. "Either I find Blue Bull now," I thought, "or this trip has all been for naught."

Slowly, I crept up the ladder, poking my head into the light. An instinctive, guttural growl echoed through the chamber as I spied my nemesis. I vaulted toward him, my hackles seemingly a foot high. "Blue Bull!" I barked, "this is your last chance to make peace with your maker! Allahu akbar!"

Caught unaware, he squeaked in terror. Blue Bull ran toward a cache of kitchen implements in the corner. But before he could find a weapon, I scooped him up in my powerful jaws. I chomped down with all my fury, causing his stitches to pop one by one. Cotton spilled from his gaping midsection as I shrugged off his ineffectual punches. A great whooshing sound came from his newly punctured squeaker. After violently shaking him, I tossed him against a wall.

Struggling for breath, Blue Bull reached out toward me. "Mugsy," he squeaked, "before you smite me ... there is something you should know ..."

"... I am your father."

To be continued ...

Subway treads on dangerous ground

In need of a quick bite to eat, I stopped by the neighborhood Subway and ordered a turkey sandwich. The cashier, distracted by a conversation with the sandwich-makers, asked the woman in front of me what kind of sandwich she had. "Ham," came the reply. Then the query came to me. "Turkey," I said. After some more chatting with her colleagues, she asked again, "What kind of sandwich did you order?"

"Turkey."

She gave me the price, and I pulled a $10 bill from my turban to pay. "He ordered ham," said one of the sandwich-makers, in the voice of a tattling grade-schooler. The cashier shot an accusatory look my way. "What kind of sandwich did you order?" she said. "What did I just tell you?" I barked. "Turkey." And with that I grabbed my change and left.

Keep annoying your customers in this manner, Subway, and I will be forced to declare jihad on that insufferable Jared.

Mugsy's Prague Spring: Part III

Part III: The Exchange

(Click here to read the previous installment)

The sun was low in the evening sky as the marionette shop came back into view. I took a deep breath as I drew near, a heavy plastic bag hanging from my jowls. Once inside, I set the bag down. "Sorcerer!" I barked. "I have returned." He slowly appeared from the shadows cast by his legion of puppet cohorts. "Is that what I seek?" he asked, pointing toward the bag. I nodded. His arm reached out to take it. "Not so fast," I barked, lashing out to push his marionette string backward. "I believe we had a deal."

"Ah, yes. Of course," he said. He pulled a notecard from his cloak and pushed it toward me. "Here is the address," he said. "In the Ungelt. Once there, seek out the most perfect puppet. You will know it when you see it."

"Dammit, wizard. I need a name!" I exclaimed, my hackles rising.

"That I cannot give you," he replied, his stare piercing through me. He opened the bag and peered inside. A sinister whisper of a laugh spilled from his unmoving lips. "With this, I now hold the key to immortality!" he proclaimed, clutching a large container of termite repellent.

"All right," I barked. "I must be going now ..."

To be continued ...

Black book blues

There has been much speculation about the client list of the alleged "D.C. Madam," which may contain the names of some of this nation's political elite. For the record, I only received belly rubs.

Mugsy's Prague Spring: Part II

Part II: The Sorcerer's Offer

(Click here to read the previous post)

"Ayatollah, I know that you are here to bring Blue Bull to justice," said the long-haired wizard, his Czech accent thick. His arms moved in an exaggerated fashion, and in his left hand he clutched a book of spells. "I do not know his exact whereabouts, but I know of someone who can help you track this monster down. I might be willing to ... pull a few strings. Quid pro quo, of course."

I studied the sorcerer's face. Was he sincere? Or was he trying to use me to achieve some diabolical black-magic aim? After traveling more than 5,000 miles, I decided I had little choice but to hear him out. "Go on," I barked.

He showed no emotion as he laid out his offer in full detail. "And that is all I seek, my liege. Do me this small favor, and Blue Bull could be yours." I briefly considered his proposal. "Done," I barked. "I shall return this evening."

As I left the shop, I could not help but wonder: Had my pursuit of the Blue Satan led me to make a deal with the devil? I said a silent prayer to Allah as I descended an escalator at the Malastranska subway stop.

To be continued ...

Back from Prague

I have returned from Prague with much to tell, my long-waiting flock. My hunt for Blue Bull had its share of ups and down, successes and failures, triumphs and frustrations. And, as is so often the case for a canine with aspirations of world domination, lingering unfinished business. But enough of this scene-setting. Without further ado, let me tell you about my search for Blue Bull in the Czech Republic.

I arrived in the afternoon, exhausted from a grueling overnight flight and a four-hour layover in London. After finding my hotel on the steeply sloping Nerudova Street in Prague's Mala Strana (Little Quarter) area, I promptly fell asleep. I awoke at midnight, refreshed and ready to tackle the challenges of this strange, vowel-deprived land. Setting out on foot, I put my nose to the cobblestones in an effort to detect a hint of the fuzzy infidel who had tried to destroy the ministry that I have so painstakingly assembled. After crossing the Charles Bridge into Old Town, I followed the crowds of humans toward Old Town Square and then on to the seedy (at least at 1 a.m.) sidewalks of Wenceslas Square. No sign of Blue Bull. Though my haphazard late-night sniffing bore no fruit, I knew there would be more time. Eager to exit the den of debaucherous infidels on Wenceslas Square, I strode back to my apartment and tried to sleep through the night.

Over the next few days, I would meet with many pre-arranged contacts, including a onetime KGB bureau chief, an imam at a local mosque and former President Vaclav Havel. I scoured the Vltava River for signs of Blue Bull, meeting with some distant relatives of my colleague Mallard. They offered some leads on the Blue Satan's whereabouts, but nothing concrete. I searched high and low, climbing the medieval Powder Tower and wandering the cty's endless labyrinth of narrow alleyways. I searched in modest gift shops and extravagant palaces.

Finally, a glimmer of hope took the sting out of my aching paws. As I pursued Blue Bull's scent in the shadows of Mala Strana, a low voice called my name. "Pssst," it whispered. "Ayatollah, it is you, isn't it?" I turned to find a local marionette shop. And peering out from the doorway was a steely stare I will not soon forget.

"Ayatollah Mugsy, my liege. I am so glad you are here at last. The prophets spoke of your arrival. You are here to find the Evil One who seeks to return this nation to the communist rule that sapped us of our will and our freedoms for four long decades. I believe I can be of service to you."

Though I want to tell you more about this old sorcerer's message, my flock, my travels have left me weary. As my eyelids grow heavy and my tail begins to droop, it is becoming apparent to me. This is a tale that will have to wait until a later date.

To be continued ...