Meet Gryffindor the Maltipoo

This is my website, and you can go through my day with me. The Federal Communications Commission has a bunch of rules that say I should warn you if you under 18, but in dog years, you need only be 2 1/2. So proceed at your own risk.

This is me: Halloween 2002. This is my Nosferatu-meets-Cujo costume. I scared a lot of 6 year olds into an early retirement. I may be scary in this costume, but don't be misled - I'm still as suave as George Hamilton.		This is me at Halloween 2004. I may look like one of those loveable, furry muppet critters, but a lot of kids never made it past Field Club Elementary thanks to me. At night, they still wake up in a cold sweat thinking about the "Night of the Gryffindor."


This is me with Santa Claws in 2003. I had just been groomed and I wanted to have a nice poop, a tasty treat and a nap, not have some fat elf pawing me like I was a yorkshire terrier pudding. Sure, he looks jolly, but he had a death grip on me. I think they managed to re-attach his thumb when I was done with him. You can see the terror in his eyes. I got a big case of Pupperonis for Christmas, so Saint Nick apparently knew better than to mess with the Gryffindor when it came to putting the loot under the tree.		This is one of the first pictures ever taken of me. George Thorogood's "Bad to the Bone" has practically been my soundtrack ever since the cradle. This is my "you lookin' at me?" look. This means: step back. The Gryffindor is in no mood for your picture-snapping. You must admit, I was a heartbreaker as a puppy.


March, 2005. I looked my people straight in the eye and said "Get this St. Patrick's Day neckerchief off me right now or pay the price." Did they? I'm not wearing the neckerchief now, so you'd be correct to assume they stepped to it right away. You got to take charge of people or they think they can have you sit or beg for treats or roll over anytime they want. Around here, when I say Take me out, they hop to it.		One wrong move and I pounce!

Gerfindor typing here. Wots this bulshit from the AKC about werking klas dogs? I dont see no maltese-poodels here. Apparntly they think we is sum kind of lovey-dovey sit-in-the-lap toy breed. Mayb they think we is a frundly lick-yor-hand dog? The maltese-poodle has a nobul tradishun of working dating back to Maltesia-Saxony for hunderds of yeers. At my house, I em on gard dutey all day and not wunce during my tenyur has the mailman envaded my howse. I chase him away evury day. I resent the emplicashun that we are a prancing, lazy, dainty breed of dog like the commun yorkshur or chiwahwah. E-mail the AKC and tell them to re-considur the maltese-poodle. I am ensulted they think we are a toy breed and not a werking breed.


the DronesClub	the smackdown	Fierce Creatures	Little Blenheim	Barmy in Wonderland	the dernier cri


Play the lyre, & he'd fall right asleep. Hercules, Orpheus, Harry Potter - who didn't whip this dog?	Attack a canvas sack? Big deal. It takes real cajones to attack a pair of Pradas.	This guy? Lets not even talk about his issues.