Hello readers, it’s me again, Dixie Dew. There was such an overwhelming response to the column awhile back that I was asked to give y’all an update.

For those of you who might be so uninformed as to not know who I am, let me fill you in.

I’m the adorable, red dachshund who is known and loved by many. My mama is Ronda Rich who normally writes this column. She makes a living by writing about family, friends and other folks she knows, including me.

I decided to turn the tables and write a book about her by telling the things she doesn’t tell you. I have the complete low-down.

I have great plans for the money I’ll make. I intend to hire a cook who will fix me things like pork chops, just like my Maw-Maw used to do before she went to heaven.

Boy, that was a sad day for all of us. I watched the whole thing happen. I’m a pretty smart dog —in fact, Maw-maw used to say that I was the smartest one in the entire family — so I knew that life would change for all of us when she left.

Boy, did it. I haven’t had a decent meal since she died. I’m wasting away to nothing.

So, I decided something had to be done. I had to make money of my own or I’d be the next one going to heaven.

Since I last wrote, things are looking good on the book front. I have an agent. Yep, someone sees the value in what I have to offer and wants to represent me. She’s helping me to get my book proposal together and once we’ve sold it to some smart publisher, I’m going on a "bark tour" rather than a book tour. I’ve done a couple of book signings with my mom — again, by popular demand — so I know how to do it. I press my paw into an ink pad and then imprint it into a book.

One thing I’m definitely going to write about is how my mom stifles my personality. It’s cruel and unjust. First of all, she thinks I shouldn’t beg for food when guests are dining at our house. I, however, am certain that some kind soul would be willing to end my starvation if given the proper opportunity. Oh, but they never have a chance. She puts me in the bedroom, closes the door and makes me stay there until the meal has ended. It’s terrible.

Then, there’s that darn cat. Mississippi is her name. As soon as I have money, I’m gonna hire someone to chase that cat for me.

She taunts me. She’ll hang out on the back porch, even climbs the screens while I’m forced to sit in the house and bark at her. My mom scolds me. She says, "That’s your sister. Be nice to her."

I tremble with indignation. That cat is no kin to me. She gets away with murder while I’m constantly in trouble.

Oh, here’s a piece of scoop for you (I’m going to put this in the book but I’ll tell you because we’re friends. Besides, my agent said that it’s fine to "tease" with some material. Other celebrities do it all the time):

Mississippi the cat isn’t a girl. She’s a boy. Apparently, my mom doesn’t know much about the anatomy of kittens. After she rescued that cat, the one that has become the bane of my existence, Mississippi got sick.

Mama took her to the vet and signed her in as "female." She was corrected by the vet’s assistant. She still calls him "her." I call him "a pain in my neck."

So, as you see, things are shaping up just fine on the book front. And it’s obvious that I can count on my mom to keep giving me good material.