A humorous autobiography that we didn't know we needed is released by the Dioptra publications.

It stars dog Rain, who recounts her life, adoption, and joining a human family. Gafaju, a bit crazy, over-excited and, according to her, of aristocratic origin, writes about her experiences in a home with other animals and much love.

The Pupaki Poodle sign the book "The Little Chopana Rain", with which they will all identify, regardless of whether they have pets. Besides, Rain is not just a dog. It's an idea. And universal!

And the truth is that our lovely little animals, with all their naivety and enthusiasm, are capable of teaching love and devotion even to the most grumpy man.

We read on the back cover:

A beige dog decides to autobiographically. Without being censored, Raine de Saluf sits in front of the computer and records the events of her shocking life, clarifying things about her genealogical tree, her relations with the rest of the animal kingdom and her love life, which is FANTATIC. Literally.

She's addressed to her ecstatic audience, who's apothecizing her. For the first time in the chronicles, a book written by a dog speaking the world language of bully, tenderness, humor and heterodome. If you were to carry your brother on your back, who's a bum, you'd feel that way.

Long story. You'll understand. You'll feel. You'll buy her a snack if you meet her on the street.

Because it's worth it.

Here's a quote from the book:

One day, then, I had personally undertaken an archaeological expedition of utmost importance.

In our garden, under an area the incompetents call 'parteri', I had identified (after chronic studies) the possible burial site of

Great Alexander and I started digging.

Methodically. With passion, but also with respect to finding. I was digging.

I was digging.

I was digging.

Mars next door was also digging, but without a vision, eh, without studies supporting his excavations, fluffy. What grave of Alexander the Great, not even the grave of the golden fly he ate and came yesterday can't find, please come.

I already imagined the headlines:

"Dogs of aristocratic descent locate the grave of Alexander the Great in a garden of Southeast Attica. The scientific community is blathering. Unesco will pay her honors, she's also cleared for President of the Republic. Some country, any country, doesn't matter.".

Yeah, I was muddy.

Yeah, from beige, I was chocolate. Health, not milk. Couverture thick, my child, was already drying the wet soil on me, like an Archaic Period clay vessel of 700 BC. But that doesn't mean I was dirty. I was essentially a monster, a monument to culture and art.

Mother, of course, didn't understand. What to understand, the only story he understands is the historic clubs of 1999, La Mamounia and +Soda.

He came out, saw me and made a sound that was not human. Something between a seagull and a volcano explosion.

‘REGENEYNE!’

I stood up. With mud to the spleen. By the segmoid of the intestine and a lemon branch in the mouth, because earlier I had managed to get down from the tree a whole branch full of lemons and drag it to the mother to show her my offer to the household.

Instead of thanking me, he temporarily fainted. Because he says I dug up the Earth's bowels and ripped out a tree, hear some exaggerations now, listen!

And behind her, Mars had made Alekos.

"I don't know. I didn't see. Den I speak Greek". Hidden behind the mother, with his breath ending in parts of her body dark and difficult, she pretended to have nothing to do with the crime.

The crime that, to note, was not a crime as I said before. It was scientific research.

Anyway, Mom decided I should wash up.

Right as an idea, okay, I'm giving it to her. He wasn't wrong. But the way, man, matters. The process matters. Protocol matters.

It was not the first time I was subjected to this torment, but it was the drop that overflowed the glass. I forgive you once. Second time. .. Prepare to face my menin!

Do you think I stink? Okay, I hear it. A lady is not "washed".

A lady takes care of herself.

It comes staff, light candles, play low therapeutic Tibetan music, sound mantra, there is towel warm, water at mental acceptance temperature, and a healer of holistic approach to suggest:

"Madame, can we pass some conditioner in line?"

Instead, Mother almost picked me up and tried to shove me in the bathtub.

In the tub, man.

Like I'm a football jersey after a derby. Like I'm a kitchen curtain.

Like I'm a potato with dirt.

Put me in the washing machine, man, at 60, with a washing aid and a prewash, alas, whatever makes it easy for you, Mom! No, no, no, no, no. Not even a piece of shit. Huh? Huh;

I put the four legs in four different directions, opened like an anchor and stuck in the door case. Mother was pulling, I was resisting. She said

"Come on, darling, you won't get hurt," as if the biggest disasters in mankind's history didn't start with someone saying "you won't get hurt.".

I didn't trust her. And I should.

Because at some point he got me in. For three seconds.

Then I flew. It's got wings! I don't know how.

I do not know whether any ancient De Saluf instinct was triggered, whether my great-grandfather from Tatoi pushed my soul towards freedom, if Alexander the Great from his half-gray grave told me "Go away, my son, it is not your time.".

Well, I did. I jumped out of the bathtub, slipped on the mat, blew mud on the wall, passed under the mother's hands, she yelled "NO, NO, NO", I went out the hallway, Mars started running because he saw movement and thought

"Party", Stoukas was thrown in the middle like a crazy extra who wants to get into the plan, and Karen did "hughy", so in her own way, for no reason or reason, Wednesday fainted, she can't stand so much tension. Max turned around. Rita said: "Now I see this for the first time or it is déjà vu, I feel that the setting has been repeated 124 times in my life.".

A few words about the author:

Acrobat between fiction and real life, as I live it, as I hear it from others, as I see it, touch it, smell it, taste it. I breathe from the fingers that type. My words are my breaths. And that's what I want you to know mostly about me.