We call it SPICY NICE

Look, hooman, spicy nice is where it's at.

Dearest Fren, it is I, Fable the Greatest Dane, here to talk to you about a most rude accusation: Someone said that I is not nice!

HARUMPH. 

How dare they say dis?

So rude. I knew they was a rude hooman when they was at the far end of the block. I has a most excellent vantage from my comfy porch bed, you see, and I saw the funny angle of their floppy hat.

So I huffed and barked and yodeled, just to make sures they knew I'd seen that hat. 

*Harumphs softly* Hats.

Mama told me to hush. But I know that if hoomans wear such silly hats, they must be told that they are silly. It is my solemn duty as the Greatest Dane who watches the streets. 

Yet instead of appreciating my greatest wisdoms, the hooman with the floppy hat looked up at my porch and said, "You are not a nice dog."

Gasp. Shock. Horror. 

How DARE.

Good thing that mama was there (though less great she had her hand on my snoot so I could not shout backs). 

She looked right at this person with the most terrible hat and said, "She's spicy nice."

Then the person laughed -- because they realized their hats was silly and that I am perfect. 

Being spicy nice is perfect, too. 

I get to love my hoomans and snug them them hard -- shoving my butt into their hips when they is sad and making them laugh with my mighty love. I give aunti sneaky nose kisses and steal treats from her pockets. And I give grandpa biggest greetings and dances at the hospital.

But I also gets to judge the hats, and shift walks, and tell those coyotes to keep off my lawn. 

*Big doggy grin*

The spicy is the best part, Fren. 

I hopes you is having a very good and spicy times. And that you keep a careful eye on those hats -- you never know what those shifty head-toppers are plotting. I thinks the hats are in league with the coyotes (let me know what you learns about their nefarious plans, okay?)

Woofs and wags,
Fabes The Spicy