A Note From Me, Harry Manilow

Hello. It’s me.
Harry Manilow.

I have an announcement to make and I will not be whispering.

Please meet Bert & Ernie, the newest permanent residents of Zoomies & Purr. They moved in and immediately started acting like they’d been here longer than I have, which honestly takes confidence. I respect it.

Bert is the quiet observer. He watches. He listens. He knows things.
Ernie, on the other paw, has opinions and feels the need to share them at full volume, usually while I’m trying to nap or look important.

They now spend their days perched above the shop, chatting, singing, and providing commentary on customers, deliveries, and my general leadership style. It’s a lot. But I’ll admit it — the place feels happier with them here.

So here’s your official invitation: come in, meet Bert & Ernie, say hello, hang out for a minute, and enjoy the background noise. They like attention. They expect it.

I’ll be here too, of course. Supervising operations. Greeting everyone properly. Keeping my hair exactly how you expect it to be.

Come visit.
The birds are ready.

— Harry Manilow

 

Harry Manilow’s Morning Report: Pallets, Power & Puppy Supervision

Hi.
It’s me.
Harry Manilow.

This morning I was promoted.

Not officially, but spiritually.

I arrived at the back of the store and immediately sensed movement. Pallets. Bags. Crunchy noises. Important humans with clipboards. A gate. Mystery. Drama. Clearly… a shipment.

Naturally, I took charge.

I sat very close. I tilted my head the way that says “I understand logistics.” I watched every bag roll by to make sure none of them tried anything suspicious. Some of them smelled exciting. Some of them smelled like they would change lives. All of them needed supervision.

My humans kept saying things like,
“Harry, you can’t be back here,”
and
“Harry, please don’t sit on the inventory.”

But that’s what a supervisor does.
He sits.
He watches.
He approves.

And let me tell you… WOW.

So many new, wonderful things just arrived. Big bags. Fun bags. Things for dogs. Things for cats. Things that made my tail wag without my permission. I did a full inspection with my eyes and my nose and my heart, and I can confidently report:

You are going to want to come see this.

The shelves are getting fuller. The options are getting better. The vibes are strong. Very strong.

I eventually clocked out of supervising because it’s exhausting being this responsible at my age, but before I left, I gave the shipment one last look that said, “You’re welcome.”

Come by soon.
Ask about the new arrivals.
Compliment my hair.

Love,
Harry Manilow
Head of Morning Supervision (Temporary)

 

Harry Manilow’s Emergency Mountain Announcement

Hello.
It is me.
Harry Manilow.

Please stop what you are doing. This is not a drill.

Earlier today, while conducting a routine walk past the harness wall at Zoomies & Purr (I was supervising), I felt a sudden and powerful urge to conquer terrain. My posture changed. My eyes narrowed. My spirit said, “You were born for elevation.”

That’s when I saw it.

Non-Stop Dogwear.

Harnesses.
Leashes.
Collars.

Gear that whispers, “You could hike a mountain,” even if you mostly walk around the block and judge birds.

Naturally, I took control of the situation. I sniffed every piece. I stared deeply into the distance. I wore my explorer hat. I became responsible.

Then my humans told me something that shook me to my core.

Zoomies & Purr is currently the only store in the entire state of Nevada carrying the Non-Stop Dogwear line.

Nevada.

A state that is basically one big outdoor activity with dogs in it.

This gear is built to move. It doesn’t mess with shoulders. It’s designed for dogs who pull like they’re leading an expedition and refuse to apologize for it.

I would like to formally recommend it for dogs who:
• believe sidewalks are optional
• consider squirrels part of their training program
• or just want to look extremely professional while standing still

If you come in, you may find me posted near the gear, silently judging fit, accepting compliments, and pretending I personally negotiated the deal.

Adventure has arrived.

So have I.

You may pet me now.

— Harry Manilow
Local Icon
Part-Time Explorer
Full-Time Hair

 

I Walked the Aisle and Found My Inner Beast

I was minding my own business this morning, taking my very important walk down the food aisle at Zoomies & Purr.

You know the one.
The slow walk.
The “I belong here” walk.

And then I noticed something was… different.

Things had been moved.
Shelves adjusted.
The energy had shifted.

My humans had rearranged the food.

I stopped.
I stared.
I leaned in for a very serious sniff.

And that’s when I saw it.

Taste of the Wild.

Friends… I don’t know how to explain what happened next except to say my inside wild animal came out. Immediately. No warning.

One second I was a refined store puppy with excellent hair.
The next?
I was a tiny, fuzzy forest creature.
Like a rabbit.
But louder.
And on a suspicious amount of caffeine.

My legs did that bounce thing.
My tail puffed up like it had something to prove.
My brain said, “We live in the wilderness now,” even though I was still standing on very clean store flooring.

Because Taste of the Wild does that.
It makes you feel adventurous.
Bold.
Like you could survive the outdoors… but also still expect dinner served promptly at 5.

It’s a really great option if you want a solid, wild-style food without the price making your humans clutch their wallets and whisper “we’ll think about it.”
There are big bags.
Good proteins.
And room on the shelf for dogs who take their meals — and themselves — very seriously.

So here is my official, very grown-up invitation:
Come in.
Walk the aisle with me.
Try a bag.
See what happens.

Worst case?
Your dog eats well.
Best case?
They briefly believe they are a majestic woodland creature with excellent hair.

Love,
Harry Manilow
Food aisle explorer
Still soft. Still wild.

 

My Beautiful Quilt

Every morning, I sit by my window.

That’s my place.
Nobody else’s.
Mine.

From there, I can see everything start moving. The birds flap around like they forgot what time it is. The leaves shake and wiggle like they’re waking up too. And then—right when I’m expecting it—I see them.

The lady.
And the gentleman.

I don’t know their names. Dogs don’t always need names for things. I just know who they are.

They’re the ones who take care of the neighborhood cats.

I watch them walk slowly with bowls of food and water, like they don’t want to scare anyone. The cats come out one at a time. Big ones. Little ones. Fluffy ones. Careful ones who peek first. Brave ones who act like they’ve been waiting there all day.

Some rub right up against the lady’s legs. Some stay back and blink at her like they’re saying thank you without using words. Nobody gets missed. Everybody eats.

I wag my tail when I see this.
I don’t even think about it. It just happens.

One afternoon, the kind lady came to see me.

She was holding something folded up, and before she even opened it, I knew it was important. It looked soft. And happy. Like it had been made with time, not just hands.

I leaned forward and sniffed it.

It smelled warm.
Like someone cared a lot.
Like staying.

“This is for you, Harry,” she said.

It was a blanket. A real one. A handmade quilted blanket.

It had blue squares that felt calm, and bright yellow ones that made me want to look closer. Some of the yellow parts had fun things on them—bones, balls, little paw prints, happy woofs, and cows with big smiles that looked like they might tip over if they laughed too hard. Everything about it felt chosen, like someone thought about me while they were making it.

I climbed onto it right away.

It felt right.

After that, the blanket stayed with me. I nap on it when the sun comes through the window just right. I sleep on it at night. Sometimes I rest my chin on it while I watch the cats outside doing whatever mysterious cat things they do.

When the breeze comes in, I think the blanket knows things. Like stories. Stories about gentle hands putting down food bowls. Stories about trust taking its time. Stories about people who show up every day because it matters.

That night, I slept really, really good.

Wrapped up in my blanket, I felt safe.
I felt loved.
I felt like I belonged to something bigger than just me.

And now, every morning, when I go back to my window and see the lady and gentleman caring for their cats, my tail starts wagging again.

Because I know something now.

Kindness doesn’t come all at once.
It’s made a little bit at a time.

And when someone wraps you in it,
you don’t forget how it feels.

I pull my blanket closer.

And I smile.

 

I wasn't breakdancing

 

It is I.
Harry Manilow.

Every afternoon, right after school lets out, my very favorite tiny humans arrive.

They are kind.

They are sweet.

They are punctual.

I wait for them by the window like a celebrity awaiting paparazzi—except the paparazzi bring backpacks and squeal my name.

One afternoon, during peak excitement, one of the girls pointed at me and yelled:

“HARRY MANILOW IS THE MOST TALENTED DOG I KNOW!

LOOK AT HIM BREAKDANCING!

I SAW THAT ON YOUTUBE!”

Friends.

I must clarify something immediately.

I was not breakdancing.

What I was doing… was scooting my behind across the floor.

A move that, while expressive, was never intended for public performance.

My human saw it instantly.

The joy left his eyes.

The dignity left the room.

I was promptly placed on Stop Scoot.

Within days, the scooting stopped.

My rear end healed.

My reputation stabilized.

A few afternoons later, the girls returned.

One looked at me with concern and asked:

“Harry… why don’t you breakdance anymore?”

I froze.

I looked at my human.

He saved my life.

He calmly said,

“Harry was just trying something new… and decided it wasn’t the best look for his brand.”

Correct.

Accurate.

Thank you.

Stop Scoot saved my rear end.

My human saved my dignity.

And I will never breakdance again.

Harry Manilow

Brand-Conscious. Rear-End Protected.

Harry Manilow Walks Away From a Photo Shoot (On Purpose)

It is me.
Harry Manilow.

Earlier today, my humans approached me with that tone.

You know the one.

“Harryyyyy…”

“Come here.”

“Just one picture.”

“Look this way.”

“No, the other way.”

“Hold still.”

“Okay now act natural.”

ACT.

NATURAL.

I had already posed.

I had already served face.

I had already given shoulder, curl, and emotional depth.

But was it enough?

No.

They wanted:

• One more angle

• A little head tilt

• “Something fun for today’s Harry Manilow Story”

Sir.

Madam.

This is not America’s Next Top Bernedoodle.

I tried to be patient.

I tried to be professional.

I tried blinking slowly to signal “I am done.”

They did not listen.

So I made a decision.

I turned.

I lifted my chin.

I engaged my dramatic exit muscles.

And I WALKED AWAY.

Mid shoot.

Mid vibe.

Mid curl.

This was not rudeness.

This was self-care.

As I walked off, my thoughts were clear:

“If they need content, they can film my absence.”

“This walk says more than a thousand poses.”

“They’ll understand when they’re older.”

Behind me I heard:

“Harry… wait…”

“Buddy…”

“Come back…”

I did not.

Because sometimes the most powerful pose…

is knowing when to leave the frame.

— Harry Manilow 

Creative Director.

Model.

Emotionally exhausted icon.

 

A Conversation Between Harry Manilow & Ellie

THE MANILOW

A Conversation Between Harry Manilow & Ellie

Ellie:

Morning, Harry.

Harry:

Good morning, Ellie. We need to talk.

Ellie:

That tone usually means either a trim or a movement.

Harry:

It’s a movement.

Ellie:

I thought so. Sit.

Harry:

Before we begin, I need you to understand something. I have been referenced.

Ellie:

Referenced how?

Harry:

A young FANILOW. This week. Pointed at my head. Said his puppy should look like this.

Ellie:

…Like this this?

Harry:

Exactly this this.

Ellie:

That’s serious.

Harry:

I know. Children don’t lie about hair.

Ellie:

What did you tell him?

Harry:

Nothing. I nodded. That felt correct.

Ellie:

Okay. Then we don’t rush. We design.

Harry:

Agreed. This can’t be trendy.

Ellie:

No shaved sides. No gimmicks.

Harry:

No.

Ellie:

We’re talking structure.

Harry:

Architecture.

Ellie:

Balance.

Harry:

Dignity.

Ellie:

Volume?

Harry:

Yes. But earned volume.

Ellie:

Good. I don’t want anyone accusing us of a football helmet.

Harry:

That accusation has been made before. I have healed.

Ellie:

Then we soften the edges.

Harry:

Round but intentional.

Ellie:

Approachable, not aggressive.

Harry:

People should say, “Wow,” not “Oh.”

Ellie:

Exactly.

Harry:

What are we calling it?

Ellie:

The Manilow.

Harry:

That feels right.

Ellie:

Other dogs are already watching.

Harry:

They always are.

Ellie:

One doodle just asked if he could get “whatever that is.”

Harry:

Tell him it’s not a haircut.

Ellie:

What is it then?

Harry:

A responsibility.

Ellie:

I like that. Hold still.

Harry:

I am holding still emotionally.

Ellie:

Good. This part is about silhouette.

Harry:

Take your time. Timelessness cannot be rushed.

Ellie:

You realize people are going to start asking for this by name.

Harry:

They already have.

Ellie:

Are you ready for that?

Harry:

I listen to my FANILOWS.

Ellie:

That’s how icons stay grounded.

Harry:

That’s how movements last.

Ellie:

Okay. Done.

Harry:

May I look?

Ellie:

Go ahead.

Harry:

…Yes.

Ellie:

Yes?

Harry:

Yes.

Ellie:

Congratulations, Harry.

Harry:

On what?

Ellie:

You’ve just become a reference photo.

Harry:

I’ll try to be responsible with that.

Ellie:

You always are.

 

My Steel Magnolias moment

It is me.

Harry Manilow.

Last night, I was once again required to sit through Steel Magnolias in the living room.

A movie my humans have watched far more times than any seven-month-old should be emotionally prepared for.

I was resting peacefully.

My curls were immaculate.

My silhouette was flawless.

Then we reached the scene.

The funeral.

The mirror.

The breath before bravery.

M’Lynn looked at herself and said:

“Shelby was right. It does look like a football helmet.”

The room went quiet.

Then one of my humans pointed at the TV…

slowly turned toward me…

and said:

“Harry.

That’s your hair.”

I felt my soul leave my body.

Return.

Leave again.

A FOOTBALL HELMET???

Sir.

This hair has been brushed with care.

This hair has been admired by strangers.

This hair has never known contact sports.

I stood up slowly and left the room.

Because revenge does not involve destruction.

It involves education.

Phase One: The Silent Treatment

For the rest of the evening, I refused eye contact.

I sighed heavily whenever he moved.

I repositioned myself so my curls faced away from him at all times.

Phase Two: Public Shaming

Whenever he attempted to pet me,

I gently but firmly turned my head so my curls brushed his face.

Repeatedly.

Unavoidable.

Inescapable.

Phase Three: The Helmet Demonstration

Later — when he lay down on the couch, relaxed and unsuspecting —

I climbed onto his chest.

I centered myself.

And then I lowered my entire curl dome directly onto his face.

Nose blocked.

Mouth full of hair.

Vision gone.

No harm.

Just volume.

I held eye contact the entire time.

This was not aggression.

This was a presentation.

Finally, I lifted my head, shook my curls dramatically, and walked away without acknowledgment.

Today, no one has mentioned football helmets.

No one has laughed.

Because now they understand.

If my curls resemble a football helmet…

Then it is a helmet of authority.

And it will be deployed again if necessary.

With love and restraint,

Harry Manilow

Guardian of the Curl

Ambassador of Boundaries

 

The dog in the mirror

Good morning.
It is I.
Harry Manilow.
Pretty dog. Big feelings. Zero mirror literacy.

Every single day I walk into Zoomies & Purr, I pass the mirrored shelf at the front of the store and am stopped dead in my tracks by the most breathtakingly handsome dog in Northern Nevada.

He stands tall.
He holds eye contact.
He knows my soul.

I pause.
He pauses.

I think, “Wow. We are both doing amazing.”

Important context:
Up until today, I believed this was another dog.
A very handsome, very quiet, very respectful dog.

So this morning, while my humans were talking and using serious words like delivery and arriving tomorrow and “Harry, that is not food,” I overheard the biggest news of my life.

TOMORROW.
NEW FOODS.
COMING.
TO.
ZOOMIES & PURR.

Two names hit the air like thunder:

Taste of the Wild
and
The Butcher’s Pup

My ears locked in.
My tail activated.
My brain began vibrating.

This information was TOO IMPORTANT to keep to myself.

I ran—RAN—to the mirrored shelf.

“FRIEND,” I said urgently to the handsome dog.
“WAKE UP. THIS IS BIG.”

He stared at me.
Silent.
Stoic.
Unmoving.

“TASTE OF THE WILD,” I announced slowly, clearly, like he might be hard of hearing.
Nothing.

“THE BUTCHER’S PUP,” I tried again, louder, adding pacing for emphasis.
Still nothing.

At this point I began to panic.

I barked.
He barked.

I tilted my head left.
He tilted his head left.

I tilted my head right.
He tilted his head right.

I stepped forward.
He stepped forward.

I stepped back.
He stepped back.

I froze.

I blinked.

I blinked again.

I looked at his curls.
I looked at my curls.

I looked at his nose.
I touched my nose.

Friends.

This is the moment.

This is when the realization arrived fully formed and unavoidable.

I was not speaking to another dog.

I was speaking to MYSELF.

IN.
THE.
MIRROR.

I locked eyes with him and said quietly,
“Oh. It’s you.”

He nodded.
(I nodded.)

Suddenly everything made sense:
• why he never spoke
• why he agreed with everything
• why he was so incredibly attractive

So tomorrow, when Taste of the Wild and The Butcher’s Pup arrive at Zoomies & Purr, just know this:

I have already been informed.
I have already celebrated.
I have already approved.

And I will be keeping an eye on things.

Both of them.

 

Today is about YOUR animals

Hello.
It is I.
Harry Manilow.

Yes, the paparazzi are back.
No, I did not call them.
They simply appear when greatness and curls collide.

Today is about YOUR animals.

All animals are welcome.

Dogs.
Cats.
Rabbits.
Birds.
Goldfish who believe they are divas.
That one reptile who makes direct eye contact and judges your soul.

Here is what I need from you, my FANILOWS:

Send us a photo of your animal
Tell us their name (government name preferred)
Tell us their favorite food or toy
  —or their mortal enemy

Examples of mortal enemies include:
• the vacuum
• the mailman
• cardboard boxes
• squirrels with audacity
• Mariah Carey

Yes. Her.
She knows what she did.

(For the record, my feud with Mariah Carey is polite, silent, and fueled entirely by eye contact and diva competition.)

Now — how to deliver these legendary photos:

📧 Email: zoomiesandpurr@gmail.com

📱 Text: 775-415-9663

No filters required.
No auditions.
No high notes.

What happens next?
Your animal becomes a STAR and appears on the big screen at Zoomies & Purr for all to admire.

AND — this part matters deeply —

For EVERY animal photo we receive and post,
Zoomies & Purr will donate a fun toy or treat to a local pet in need.

Your pet gets famous.
Another pet gets spoiled.
Mariah remains… aware.

Send the photos.
Join the spectacle.
Let the screen be filled with legends, not divas.

With love, curls, and perfectly controlled shade,
Harry Manilow

 

Hello. It is I. Harry Manilow.
Community liaison. Professional greeter. Occasional runner.

One afternoon, I was sitting in my usual spot at Zoomies & Purr, watching my friends walk by outside.
I waved.
They waved.
I got very excited.

Too excited.

I may have… trotted after them.
And somehow…
I got separated.
And somehow…
I ended up in front of a neighboring restaurant thinking, “Well this is new.”

But then something beautiful happened.

Some very kind humans noticed me.
They checked my tag.
They saw my name.
They saw my phone number.
They made a call.

And just like that—
my family at Zoomies & Purr came right away.
I was safe.
I was home.
I got extra hugs.
(As I should.)

That little tag made a very big difference.

So today, in the spirit of MLK Day, community love, and neighbors helping neighbors, we want to give that same peace of mind to you.

FREE PET NAME TAGS today for our Fanilows

If your pet’s tag needs an update—or if they don’t have one at all—stop by and we’ll make one for you.
A current phone number can be the fastest way to help a lost pet find their way home.

This is our small way of serving our community today.
Because love looks like preparation.
And community looks like people showing up for one another.

With gratitude, curls, and a very secure tag,
Harry Manilow

 

Choose community

Neighbors… it’s me. Harry Manilow. I’m still young. Young enough to believe that most people are doing the best they can with what they’ve been given. Young enough to believe that if we slow down long enough to really see each other, something gentle can still happen. Lately, I’ve felt how heavy things are. I’ve felt it in the tone of conversations. In the sharpness of words that travel faster than understanding. In the way people decide who someone is before they ever meet them. Sometimes, from my favorite spot at Zoomies & Purr, I watch neighbors walk by our windows. Some smile. Some hurry. Some glance in and keep going. And sometimes… I hear about people who have already made up their minds about us — without ever stepping inside. That part makes my heart ache. Not because of pride. But because of everything they’re missing. If they came in, they would see something very different from the stories floating around. They would see a place built not just for pets — but for people. They would see my humans quietly helping neighbors who are trying to hold things together. They would see dignity offered where shame once lived. They would see kindness given without conditions. They would learn that Zoomies & Purr exists for more than transactions. It exists for connection. We have people who come in just to breathe. Just to stand still for a moment. Some of them don’t even have pets. They come because this is a place where they don’t have to explain their exhaustion. A place where being human is enough. A place where someone remembers their name, asks how they’re really doing, and means it. We see grief walk through the door. We see anxiety. We see loneliness. And we see hope, too — sometimes shaky, sometimes quiet, but always welcome. Zoomies & Purr was built on a simple belief: That everyone deserves care. That help should come with dignity. That love multiplies when it’s shared. This is a place of healing. A place of community. A place where joy is allowed to exist alongside struggle. And yes — we would love for you to come in. Not to be sold to. Not to be convinced of anything. Just to learn who we are. Come meet my humans. Come hear why this place exists. Come sit for a minute, pet a dog, and remember what it feels like to be welcomed without expectation. If you’ve had doubts… come see for yourself. If you’ve felt disconnected… you belong here too. If life has been heavy lately… you don’t have to carry it alone. We accept everyone. Exactly as they are. I’m still hopeful. I believe hearts can soften when they’re met with honesty. I believe neighbors can become friends when given the chance. I believe community isn’t something we argue about — it’s something we practice. So my invitation is simple: Stop in. Say hello. Let us be real people to you, not assumptions. I’ll be here. Tail wagging. Heart open. With love and hope, Harry Manilow Still believing. Still welcoming. Still choosing community.

Fanilow Gear is now available to order

Hello, Fanilows.
It’s me — Harry Manilow.
Yes, that Harry. The fluffy one with feelings.

I wanted to share something close to my very soft, very emotional heart.

Fanilow T-shirts, hats, and hoodies are now available to order at Zoomies & Purr. (S-4XL)
Our first official order goes into production on the 20th, so if you’d like to be part of the very first round, please be sure to order this weekend.

And because chaos and kindness often hold hands:

We have a very small, limited number of Fanilow T-shirts available right now, before the first order even goes into production. Once these are gone, they’re truly gone.

Current in-store availability:
• 1 Men’s Large
• 1 Men’s XL
• 2 Men’s Medium
• 1 Women’s Small
• 2 Women’s Medium
• 2 Women’s Large
• 2 Women’s XL

If you snag one of these, you will be that person — the one who had a Fanilow shirt before everyone else. Quietly iconic. Respectfully unhinged.

Donation pricing:
• T-shirts & hats: $30 donation
• Hoodies: $60 donation

Now the part where I get serious for a moment.

100% of proceeds from Fanilow apparel go directly toward providing food and supplements for local dogs and cats whose families are doing everything they can, but just need a little extra help right now.

When you wear Fanilow gear, you’re not just wearing merch.
You’re helping keep bowls full.
You’re helping families stay together.
You’re telling the world, quietly but clearly, “I care.”

It’s kindness you can wear.
It’s community you can feel.
It’s love, with sleeves.

Thank you for being part of the Zoomies & Purr family.
Thank you for showing up.
And thank you for letting a fluffy dog be part of something bigger than himself.

With curls, gratitude, and just a touch of chaos,
Harry Manilow
Fanilow-in-Chief
Zoomies & Purr

 

Marge was COWNAPPED!

I arrived at Zoomies & Purr this morning like a PROFESSIONAL.
A working dog.
A community figure.
A man with a schedule and a cow.

I went straight to my toy box because that is where Marge lives. She is my emotional support cow, my squeaky confidant, my ride-or-die ruminant. I opened the box.

EMPTY.

No cow.
No squeak.
No dignity.

I stared into the void. The void stared back. I laughed once — a sharp, brittle laugh — because surely this was a joke the universe would immediately correct.

It did not.

I pawed the box. I shoved my face into it. I flipped toys like I was searching for answers in a cereal box. Nothing. Just rope. Just lies.

Friends… Marge does not leave the store.
Marge clocks in here.
Marge has a WORK ETHIC.

Which means the unthinkable had occurred.

MARGE. WAS. COWNAPPED. AT. WORK.

I lost my mind.

I began running laps around the store like a dog in a true-crime reenactment. I dove under shelves. I body-checked a display (lightly, for drama). I laughed hysterically while muttering things like, “This is fine,” and “We’re fine,” and “Someone is going to jail.”

Customers froze. Humans whispered. I bark-laughed. I sniffed everything — the floor, the counter, a man’s shoe, the concept of betrayal.

I imagined Marge being smuggled out in a tote bag. I imagined her squeaking her last squeak somewhere dark and unfamiliar. I imagined myself testifying before a jury: She was a good cow. She squeaked on command.

I demanded answers with my eyes.
I accused everyone with my curls.

Then —
like a flashback in a soap opera — it hit me.

Yesterday.

A child entered the store.

A tiny agent of chaos.

He had apple slices.

I remembered holding Marge proudly in my mouth. I remembered thinking, I’ll put her back in her box in just one second. I remembered apple slices hitting the floor. I remembered applause. I remembered absolutely abandoning responsibility.

The humans kept searching.

And then someone yelled, “HARRY—”

There she was.

Behind a food display.

Just… sitting there.
Fine.
Alive.
Judging me.

I lost it.

I laughed like a maniac. I spun. I squeaked her myself. I flopped on the floor like I had just survived a maritime disaster. Marge had not been cownapped.

I had simply set her down mid-apple and walked away like a menace.

Now some might say the lesson here is that I should put my toys away.

Absolutely not.

The lesson is this:
If I am running customer relations, accepting produce, and maintaining the brand image of Zoomies & Purr, SOMEONE ELSE SHOULD BE IN CHARGE OF PUTTING MY COW BACK IN THE BOX.

I am not a storage system.
I am a dog.

Marge is back in her toy box now.
The humans did that.
They were shaking a little, but they did it.

The store survived.
The cow survived.
My reputation remains questionably intact.

And if Marge ever goes missing again, I will not be calm.
I will be louder.
And I will immediately blame the humans.

— Harry Manilow

 

I love to ride in the car

Hello.
It is I.
Harry Manilow.

I would like to speak to those of you who love Zoomies & Purr… but maybe don’t always have the time to stop in. Or whose day is already full. Or whose car is doing that thing where it makes a noise and everyone is pretending not to hear it.

Good news.

We do FREE home delivery.

And even better news — I love car rides.
Love them.
Need them.
Emotionally depend on them.

The wind in my curls.
The vibration of the road beneath my paws.
The possibility that I might personally assist in the delivery process (by supervising, posing, and offering morale).

So if you place an order today, just know you’re not only getting amazing food and supplies delivered to your door —
you’re also helping a hardworking dog get his daily car ride fix.

This is called community support.
This is called self-care.
This is called me sitting proudly in the passenger seat like I pay insurance.

Place an order today.
Let me ride.

With love,
Harry Manilow
Professional Passenger Prince