Doga class wore me out this week. In fact, I was so sore that I decided to take a day off from the gym. But that darn Happa didn't let me rest for long.

“Gordi!” he said, bounding into my flat. “You need to get up! We’re going to the spa to beautify for a haute cocktail party tonight -- there’ll be dog-tinis!”

“Oh, Happa, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes you are,” he said. “You haven't been doing all this work for nothing -- let's go show off!”

With the pitter-patter of my paws and the giddy-gallop of Happa's, we were on our way to The Pampered Perro Medical Wellness Spa in South Beach.

Once there, I stretched out for my usual: a deep tissue massage, a pedi-pedi with crystal gel, and a coat styling.

“Gordi, is that you?” came a familiar voice.

Talk about a blast from the past. My massage therapist was none other than my old modeling mate, Marcela.

She set about to work, chewing my ear off with chatter along the way. “You look … good,” she began. “I, too, retired from modeling and just received my nutritionist license. My secret to keeping my looks is fasting on organic grass every two weeks and eating steamed free-range chicken.”

I tried to fall into a peaceful slumber as she continued the massage, but Marcela was having none of that. “You know, you could do wonders for yourself by eating well,” she said. “You may not see the signs yet from eating the average commercial diet, but you will. Do you even know what's in dog food?”

Holy sit! I thought. This dog was chewing a bone raw, and not about to let go. I tried to speak, but she kept rambling.

“It’s full of fillers and meal -- seriously, dis-gus-ting. The fillers are bad and the meal is worse. What is meal, you may ask. Well, it’s discarded animal waste that’s been re-engineered to look like ‘good’ food. Humans won’t eat that, so why should we?” Her massage got deeper as she became more hysterical.

“Darling,” she barked, “reading labels should not just be for Dolce & Gabana. Always read the can labels and avoid ‛chicken meal,’ by-products and nasty fillers.”

She paused to breathe.

“I do,” I said with dignity. “In fact, I eat only organic snacks and Halo food.”

Marcela was silent. “Oh,” she finally said begrudgingly. “Halo is actually top notch.”

“Yes, it is.”

“So have you heard that Bartholomew, the Bartholomew Bond, is throwing a very haute cruise for the New Year? I’m trying to get an invite. If you want one, I suggest you update your Dogbook page and Photoshop your headshots -- all the stars are doing it; it’s the new beauty tool.” She paused. “And maybe a tail lift, and some whisker implants.”

Once a model bitch, always a model bitch, I thought. But still … did she have a point?

When all was done I rejoined Happa and told him what was said.

“Oh, Gordi,” Happa said, bounding along, “Don’t listen to her! You look good and you’re only going to look better with your new diet and exercise regime. And you’re the one with the invite from Bartholomew, not her!”

“Yes, you’re right," I conceded. "I do have the invitation.”

Happa’s words had given me the boost I needed. I still have seven weeks to go before the cruise, and I’m determined to get into shape without the help of Photoshop or implants!

***

A quick additional note before I start counting sheep in my Royal Pet Club bed. Happa, Halo, and Doga inspired me to be ME today, and to keep striving for my goals. I Twittered my thoughts to my fans, and let them know:

Don’t judge a book by its cover, read the label and look for the good stuff because you’re worth it ya’ll.

Check out my new photo. Don’t I look as slim as Mariah Carey?!?

Be real. No to chicken meal. Yes to gorgeous!

A long day is done when you can shout it all out in less than 140 characters.

I had my last snack of the night, savoring the naturalness of it. Twitter, Twitter little star!