Table of Contents

Chapter One . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Chapter Two . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

Chapter Three . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Chapter Four . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18

About the Amazing Author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  21

     Hi, my name is Polly. I'm a Poodle and here's 

           my story. This is what I look like:

Polly the Poodle

August 28th, 2020

It's me, Polly! The one and only Polly. You see, when my owner introduces me to some of her friends, they giggle. And I know EXACTLY what they're thinking. My name sounds like some kind of lollipop. Right?

    Anyway, I live in Paris, France with my owner, Francine. Francine adopted me from an Animal Shelter when I was only three weeks old!

    My mother left me ALL by myself when I was born. I remember her sweet, sweet voice, when she used to tell me a story. My mother wasn't my only family. I had exactly eleven brothers! When I think of them, it reminds me of the Joseph story.

    My brothers teased me for being the youngest one. I was ALWAYS the last to drink mother's milk. Yeah. Because I was young. I was the last to participate in the Dog Games. Yeah. Because I was young.

    Now, being in the shelter wasn't great at all. Really! I was there for exactly two months. And you want to know why? Because "everyone" expects Poodles to be sassy-like.

    But I'm not sassy, and thank God I'm not. I remember when Francine picked me up gently and tucked me in her grip.

    Living in France has changed my perspective towards things. My friend, Benjamin tells me that life isn't about what people think of you on the

outside, but what matters is what's on the inside. And ever since, I held on to that.

    Francine keeps telling me about going to America. I certainly do NOT want to go to America. I've been in France for the rest of my life!

    Wish me luck, Diary.

August 30, 2020

    It's the BIG day! Francine had packed her bags and packed my litter box. P-U! She put me in my container and left the house.

    She doesn't use a car like most people do. Instead, she rides her red, sleek bike, that her mother passed on to her. "It's part of the family tradition," she had said. "We pass on bikes from generation to generation."

    After a few hours of pedaling, we finally arrived at the airport. There were so many sights and smells in America. Pizza, burgers, hotdogs, and people walking around and minding their own business. Man! America is so sophisticated.

    But France is a whole lot different from America. In France, you hear kids playing soccer VERY early in the morning. That's why Francine barely has any sleep. I just wish I could be a Bulldog like Benjamin, who stands at his owner's

door and protects them from soccer-playing children.

    We walked further on into the airport. A man handed us a ticket. I really didn't know what that ticket was for. Then, we walked into this square thing that when you pushed buttons, it lifted you up to another floor.

...............................................................................................................

We're in an airplane! I'd never been in an airplane before in my life! The flying machine lifted us

above the clouds.

    On the way to America, Francine starts explaning to me the policies in America.

    "Polly, you have to be on your best behavior," she said. "Or else, no other dogs will like you."

    I hid my head behind her back.

    "You also have to be polite to people in America," she said. "And also, we're staying in America forever."

    I gasped. It couldn't possibly be true. I try not to

have mixed emotions.

    This is the worst day of my life, Diary. >:(

September 4, 2020

    This is TOTALLY horrible! When we arrive there, we had to move into a small, crappy apartment. It could barely fit five people in it.

    I walk around the place some and sniff the air. Although, the only good part of America is that it's CLEAN!!! Trust me, you wouldn't know this because you're not a dog.

    I peer out the window to see if there're any other dogs in the neighborhood.