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Dear Reader:

Wow! Bow wow! It’s been a wild ride—wilder even than learning to water-ski or skateboard. I’m so famous now that The New York Times plugged my autobiography. “Uggie will bark all in a memoir,” it announced. Well, I’ve certainly had a lot to bark about lately.

Even before The Artist stunned us all by hitting the big time and winning five Oscars, inside I knew (as did my wonderful acting coach Omar) that I was an artist. I may have been merely a pound-bound hound when I joined Omar’s troupe, and certain species-ist quarters have contended that I mindlessly do tricks for treats, but it’s not true. I was milking a crowd as a young street performer when my canine companions and I were doing gigs for biscuit money. Yes, I’ve always been a bit of an attention-seeker, but aren’t all great actors?

Expect some real treats. Perhaps not quite as tasty as pizza, but still lip-smackingly good. Not just the stories of how I got into showbiz or why I fell nose over paws in love with my divine Miss W (that’s Reese Witherspoon to the rest of you), but also the dirty doggie truth about Cat-Gate. And, well, a few more youthful misdemeanors . . .such as Zebra-Gate and Cockatoo-Gate and the truly shameful Binge-Gate.

I’m fond of a good romp, and this candid canine tell-all zips along with revealing tales of celebrity encounters and how I cope with fame. Of course there’s some sad stuff too, including the health problems that forced me into early retirement. I’ve given my all in this honest-to-dog Hollywood memoir, because that’s what I always do. I hope you’ll gobble up every word, just like I wolf down sausages.

Love and licks,

Uggie

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