Guys, you will never believe your luck. You know this gorgeous, haute couture sweater I modeled for the camera ahead of our exclusive fundraiser raffle?

Remember how many of you fainted at your desks, just from seeing me in all of my gorgeous, dog-model glory? And how many of you instantly felt an intense and primal need to get your hands not only on my stunning self but also on a sweater just like mine?

Well. You may never get your hands on this fine body of mine, but as of today, you can get your hands on one of these luxurious, handknit sweaters!

It gets even better: now, for a limited time only, our dear friend Emily is selling these fine, fine pieces to benefit the medical care of her own foster elderbull, Ginger Rogers! Ginger is having some pretty serious ear and dental issues that need to be cared for before she can be adopted, and Emily has cleverly decided to allow all of us dog-lovers to help Ginger and be fashionable and warm all winter long. I mean, seriously — a hand-knit sweater, custom made for any dog size, for $25-$30? And at the same time helping out that hottie Ginger Rogers with her ear and tooth issues? I’m in. Mama, get the checkbook please, I need a sweater to match every mood!

For more info, visit Emily’s blog, here!

XOXO, Sir Chicky

PS- mama said that even though Friday is MY day, I have to share with my stupid foster sister Zee, who is stealing all of my elderbull thunder. So here are some stupid photo of stupid Zee, with her stupid hand-knit sweater.

Sir Chick wants everybody to know — he is getting really pumped for fall. Summer is cool and all, but he doesn’t like swimming nearly as much as his mama does, and it’s just so darn hot — especially when you have such a strong “sun-dar” that always leads you to the sunny spot, no matter how small it is, and no matter how hot it is outside.

Chick loves fall because he’s such an outdoorsman — you  might think he works at the Bass Pro Shop. He might work there, actually, if they allowed dogs and if he had opposable thumbs.

Fall is prime hiking and backpacking season in the Mid-Atlantic, and Chick loves him some hiking and backpacking. Sometimes when the weather is perfect, we head out past the Shenandoah Mountains — always crowded with DC tourists — and set foot into the wild hills of the George Washington National Forest.

Sometimes we go even when the weather is not perfect, but rather chilly or rainy — not too uncommon for the spring and fall in our area, but Chick never wants to miss an opportunity to do a two-night thru hike– nor does his mama, who loves little more than being outside in the great big world.

Back when we lived in Texas, we were pretty much guaranteed good weather when we went on excursions — it’s always warm and sunny in Central Texas.  Chick did some good camping and backpacking trips over New Years weekends, President’s Day weekends, and MLK weekends.

Chick’s measure of outdoorsy suitability is this: if there’s a tennis ball handy and you can roll around on your back having a mock battle with it until you fall tenderly asleep on the bare earth, it’s good enough for him.

Yo. It’s me, Chick, here for Chix-a-Lot Friday, and I have a bunch of good newses– including some that can benefit you — so make sure to read all the way through instead of just getting stuck on the pictures!

Now. I’m no high-brow pit bull, but I love me a good piece of art, especially a good painting. That is, I love me a good painting of myself. And can you believe it’s taken me seven years to convince my mama to have one made of me? She says it’s because no custom dog art has ever inspired her before, but I know it’s obvious that she just didn’t love me as much before as she does now– after all, eight years old is her favorite number of years old for a dog to be, considering that both me and my foster sister Little Zee are eight, and we are her favorites.

Anyhow. Remember how our friend Kim from Yellow Brick Home donated a custom pet portrait to our fundraiser for Zee a few weeks back? And remember how more than fifty of you threw your lottery tickets in for that piece? (Yeah. I counted.) Well, guess what! All that time that we were collecting your lottery tickets and wondering who was going to win, my mama was pouring over a squillion pictures of me, trying to figure out which one to submit for our very own custom portrait that we commissioned.

As you can probably imagine, it took her forever to pick the right photo, but she did it! And Kim painted me! And our painting arrived! And I love it! Check it out!

Mama loved it even more than she thought she would, since it’s so hard to capture my expressive eyes, my noble ears, my perfect wrinkles, and my beautiful brindle furs. She said that Kim really “nailed it” which is confusing, since I don’t see any nails in the painting. But anyhow, we wish you could see it in person; the photo above is good, but doesn’t even close to do it justice. There is so much detail in there. Just the white on my body must be about 90 different shades. I wonder if Kim used 90 different paintbrushes just to paint my white furs? They never even taught me about 90 different shades of white in art class!

And there is even MORE fantastic-ness about my painting, Until last week, Kim was only doing paintings in a four inch square format, but my painting is a brand new whopping six inches! Me and Kim’s very own pit bull Jack were the first ones to get to be painted in this new size. Pretty rad, don’t you think?

Here’s a fuzzy photo mama took with her remote, just to give you a sense of the perfect size of these glorious, glorious six square inches of Chicken:

The original four-inch size is still available, do not fret. And just to prove it to you, here is a photo of me on six inches and my favorite foster sibling (and Kim’s!) Gonzo Bunny-Ears on four hot pink inches:

I can’t decide which one I love more. My glorious six inches, or Gonzo’s adorably compact four inches?

Here’s where we get to the good news for you, friends. Dear Kim and Scott were so generous to donate a custom portrait to our fundraiser a few weeks back, and they’re throwing in some extra generosity to thank all of you, dear lovers of Little Zee!

This weekend only — today, tomorrow, and Sunday — you can get 15 percent off any piece in Kim’s shop of mini paintings, including custom pieces of your own pets and premade pieces! Can you even believe your luck? So if you have been thinking about these sweet little portraits ever since our raffle ended, this is your chance to get one — at a discount. Here’s how:

Visit Kim’s Etsy shop here.  Select your option — four inches or six?  One pet or two? When you check out, enter discount code LITTLEZEE15 to see your discount automatically apply.  Send off your order. Relax with a nice cocktail. As soon as your portrait arrives, send us a photo of it — and your dog — so we can ooh and ahh over it also.

Go on, what are you waiting for?

Well hello there, my loves. I’m flattered to know I’ve developed such a reputation around here– not only for being a hearthrob, but also for being such a well-mannered dog and a big-hearted foster brother. I believe I heard mama mentioning that somebody even referred to me as “Mr. Perfect.” Well aww, shucks.  I hate to risk you thinking less of me, but mama says I have to come clean. So here we go: even dogs who look like perfect angels have dark, dirty secrets. And I’m not just talking about my great love for the culinary pleasures of cat poo.

You see, I seem perfectly well-behaved, but I have my weaknesses. In fact, mama and dad have done A WHOLE LOT of training with me to make me into the near-perfect gentleman that I am today. When mama adopted me about 7 years ago in Austin, I was a wild man. I had no manners, couldn’t concentrate even for a squilli-second, and I was a real conspiracy-theorist when it came to other dogs. I thought they were all out to get me and my people, and I had to protect myself and my family! It was the least I could do to thank my mama and dad for springing me out of the slammer that cold November day and bringing me home to live with them in the land of soft dog beds and chew toys. That’s what a good dog does . . . right?? So as soon as I saw another dog, I would go totally bonkers. Mama would kind of freak out, act embarassed, sometimes yell at me, and drag me away. I didn’t understand why she didn’t appreciate my gallantry, and she didn’t understand why I was being so gallant. It was the perfect recipe for what I call “just being a dog” and what I think you humans call “a behavioral issue.” Big, loaded words were thrown around like “aggressive” and “hate.” She and dad just didn’t understand.

So we tried taking a basic class at the big box pet store and I learned a great “sit,” but it didn’t help so much to make me calm and friendly when other dogs came around. Mama was so overwhelmed that for a long time she thought that I would never be able to be around other dogs — ever, at all. Can you imagine? My life would be so sad without my best bud Tex the lab, good ol’ Pancho Villa the pointerish, and even young Keebler the poodle.

After a while, we discovered the greatest dog trainer that ever was, and he taught me and my people (but mostly my people) about how us dogs think, and how to explain to us what is ok in the human world and what is not ok. He taught my mama that I am not aggressive, hateful, or mean, I just feel a little helpless when a dog rushes me on my leash, and I react in the only way I know how, trying to tell him or her to go away. Lee Mannix taught us how to “set me up for success” and how to meet other dogs in a positive way. If not for Lee, I might never have been able to foster the six dogs I have fostered so far, and perhaps most tragically of all, I might never have had my love affair with Gonzo Bunny-Ears:

We have come a long way since then, but even now, I begrudgingly admit that I am still not perfect. When we bring new dogs into our house, we go S-L-O-W in letting them meet me, since that works best for me. I don’t get to sniff with other dogs on walks, and if we are ever out and about and see a dog running around off leash, we immediately turn around and start heading in the opposite direction, and mama reaches for the hot dogs. It may seem kind of persnickety, but it works for us.

Lee Mannix taught us a lot of valuable lessons, but looking back on it all, I think I have taught my mama some valuable lessons too. From me, she learned never to think the worst of a dog, but instead to try to understand its perspective and find a positive way to communicate with it. She learned that the dogs who some people consider to be a “problem” can actually be a real treasure. And she learned that judging a dog based on its current behavior — rather than thinking about its potential and how we might work together as a team — can be a real mistake.

Without all of those valuable lessons, mama might have given up on me. And wouldn’t that have been such a loss?

I guess you know by now that foster sister Stevie Wonder is NOT on my BFF-list. Sure, we get along fine. Sure, I let her sneak up on me when I’m sleeping and get a little snuggle in, and sure, I took her to the prom, and sure, I tried to teach her The Look. But that’s where it ends. She licks me too much, always wants to play, and is always stealing my bed.

So let’s have a look at my REAL friends, shall we? Of course you all remember my buddy Gonzo Bunny-Ears. He was like a mini-me, plus those crazy bunny ears. He is a good pillow, tons of fun, and I love him.

But he’s only my third-best friend. My second-best friend is Pancho Villa Harriger. He and I used to work together at Casa Marianella back in the day, and lucky for me, his people are my parents’ best friends. He has some great droopy ears and a crazy curly tail, and I always make fun of him for the way he waddles his butt like a duck when he walks. You know the funniest thing about Pancho? Everybody thinks he’s a pointer mix, but you know what? We did a DNA test on him, and he’s half Staffie, and NO pointer! Just goes to show how guessing a dog’s breed by the way he looks is so silly. Anyhow, Pancho and I used to party together a lot when our parents were in grad school. They would get drunk together on beers and whiskey, and we would get drunk together on fun. Here we are being drunk together:

And here we are being more serious. We were campaigning for Obama. You may not be able to tell, but my collar says “Chicks 4 Change.”

And finally, my bestest bestest bestest friend of all is my uncle Tex. He is a most wonderful black lab and I love him to bits and pieces, even if he does bark an awful lot and has lots of neat ninja moves that are cooler than mine. He lives here in DC near my mama and dad, and my best days of all are the days I get to go over and visit him and his people (my grandma and grandpa). They have a big yard for us to run around in and when Tex barks up a storm, grandma gives us treats. It’s like magic! Mama says it’s a good thing he never did teach me to bark, because she would be none too happy. I guess she doesn’t like us dogs getting treats all the time?

And us with my second-uncle Marcel:

I hope you liked meeting my friends! Who are YOUR best buddies?

FosterMom often describes Chick as an “ambassadog,” which I think means that Chick’s charm, good looks, and positive attitude easily win over skeptics and show how loving these tough-looking dogs can be.  Common early reactions to Chick include, “He’s really a pit bull?  But he seems so friendly!” or “He’s so well behaved for a pit bull!” or “Does he bite?” or, my personal favorite, “He could turn at any moment.”  But Chick’s admirers quickly are convinced otherwise.

When we first met, we were not too interested in each other.  Chick emerged from the shelter and dove headlong into the important task of sniffing the ground.  He breathed deeply, relishing the outside-of-the-shelter earth and all its scented mysteries.  It was the equivalent of a man long at sea who gratefully kisses dry land upon his return.  Chick was getting a good whiff of freedom.

I, on the other hand, was apprehensive.  Although FosterMom had told me all about how friendly and gentle Chick was, I had never met a pit bull.  I contemplated his big boxy head, thick neck, and wrinkly forehead.  I offered a hand.  Not nearly as interesting as dirt.  I took his leash, and he dragged me, zigzag, across the parking lot.

It was a short and successful courtship.  When we got home, Chick began to show off his charisma.  He curled up happily on his new dog bed.  He offered his warm, pink belly for a good rub.

Plus, I soon learned that Chick and I have a lot in common.  We both enjoy tennis…

playing in the snow…

reading the newspaper…

admiring art…

studying for law school exams…

and, every once in a while, enjoying a glass of good scotch.

We became fast friends.

“He could turn at any moment . . . and give you a big, juicy, tuna-flavored French kiss.”

. . . continued from last Chix-a-Lot Friday, How I Met My One.

Well, we hopped in the car. I wouldn’t have known to call it that back then, I hardly knew anything at all. But The One has taught me a lot over the years. It smelled nice in the car, and the dog bed in the back was soft and cozy and not at all covered in dog food or drool or fur or pee. What a nice change. I was sleepy, but too nervous and excited to take the long-overdue nap I wanted. We drove for a while, and then we were there.  I knew that because she told me: “We’re home!” And I didn’t know what that meant either, but I could tell by how she was smiling even though her eyes were watery that this was a good thing.

Well it turned out that “home” was a place with a few rooms, lots of soft places to lay down, a yard with lots of things to smell and even more mosquitos on the prowl, the two other girls who smelled like Mexican food and laundry, and the cutest kitten I ever did see! I didn’t know what to make of it all at first, but soon I realized that it wasn’t just a fun adventure like when The One was just Nice Lady and would take me to the enclosed field at the slammer to run around. I was going to get to stay with her. Forever.

me and my kitten

his name was Illy and we were in love

I loved those two other girls who smelled like Mexican food and laundry, and I really loved my kitten. Only he wasn’t mine for real. But he was my roommate and my buddy. We would play chase and cuddle up for naps and he would play funny jokes on me like climb all the way to the top of the bookshelf and wait until I ran by looking for him, and then he would fly through the air and jump on me. Silly Illy.

So I started thinking I was going to have a pretty good life of rest and relaxation, right? Well, it turned out I was wrong. One day Mom woke me from my beauty sleep and informed me that I had to work to earn my keep! I didn’t know what that meant, but normally when we were going somewhere it was a fun thing, so I happily came along. It turned out that mom was taking me to a place that smelled of Mexican food and laundry and inducting me into a society of girls who smelled like Mexican food and laundry. The girls were all so excited to meet me, because they had heard all about me during their weekly staff meetings when mom would talk about me and cry and they convinced her that she should bust me outta the slammer because it was so obvious to them that we were each other’s Ones. They were such nice girls and in some ways I owe my life to them. And I was going to be their coworker!

the girls. i shoulda been in the picture too, but i was off hunting for chicken bones or playing soccer with my friends. mom's in the middle there, and the two other girls who came to the slammer to meet me are to your left of her.

The place we worked was Casa Marianella, which was nothing at all like the slammer. It was a nice house with lots of nice people, and was open to people who had traveled very far and didn’t speak English and were hungry and tired and scared and didn’t know where else to go. Because we lived in Texas, most of the people who came to visit spoke Spanish, which neither my one nor I spoke when we started working there (but we learned). The people visited for a few weeks, and during that time the girls and I helped them figure out how to find their families, where to live and work, helped them go to the doctor if they were sick, got them signed up for school, found them lawyers, and other Important Things like that. We also cooked dinner every night — usually beans and rice and whatever kinds of foods nice people donated, and we did laundry. Lots and lots of laundry.

Mom hanging laundry out to dry.

Mostly the girls did those things. My duties were called “hanging out” and “playing soccer” and “cleaning up after dinner.” Here are some pictures of me in action doing my duties:

The funnest thing about my job there, other than getting to hang out with my One every day and eating chicken bones that the guys left in the yard even though the girls asked them not to, was getting to meet so many different people and change their minds about dogs as handsome as me. For some reason, a lot of the newcomers thought that if a dog was as gorgeous as me, he must be something to be frightened of. Perhaps they were worried that they were going to rub off my gorgeous white furs, or wipe away my beautiful brindle patches? Well in any case, lots of people thought they didn’t want to get near me at first, but my expert wooing and cuteness won them all over — from elderly blind men from rural Mexico to tiny babies from Honduras. I won them all.

We worked there for a year, my One and me. Sometimes I still think that was my funnest year ever because I got to be so busy working and playing with my friends. With 18-20 people living at the house at any time, I was never bored or lonely. There was plenty of food to clean up off the floor, and always somebody to play soccer with.

Stay tuned next week, when maybe — just maybe — my Other One will tell you what he thought of me when he first met me, and all the fun we had in those early days together as youngsters.