$tay ¢old

This is Bailey, a Philly chick takin classes abroad, studyin’ film in photo-flash-focus-record in North Jerz for the weekend. She is still just a puppy but she can tear through her own leash. Yes, she is a pitbull and oh-so-loveable.

Outfitted with her Coach collar, Bailey doesn’t even know how fly she is. She intermittently looks sky/ceilingward and no one knows why. It is part of her cute, understated mystique. Here she doesn’t shun my camera but looks into it longingly, like I said, “give me your best cute pitbull on a couch.” I even got pearly whites off that. So, when she pukes in your cupholder on the drive to Jersey, you aren’t mad at her, either.

Bailey’s never mad at ya – if she was, she could probably easily remedy that. She would, yes, bust a grape in a fruit fight. Maybe a bowl of grapes. And your hand. When a shi-tzu angrily snapped at Bailey, she merely gave him a “bitch, you playin?” look. It was only later she came with the venom: “Oh no, you didn’t just yell. Did you yell? Well I can yell, fella. I can make you poof, vamoose, son-of-a-bitch-from-a-Queens-puppymill-oh-yes-I-went-there.” Then she ate all the shi-tzu food.

Who cares anyway. She’s just a cutiepie.