Most Talkative: Stories From the Front Lines of Pop Culture Andy Cohen (nice books to read .TXT) 📖

devotion to her, despite how positively unappealing she is on every level. Even after Dina left the show, Grandma Wrinkles and I stayed in touch. (Thank God for e-mail, because I plan never to literally touch her again.)

Of course, I am not averse to all follicularly challenged animals. You know who I am talking about: Sir Giggy Vanderpump, Lisa Vanderpump’s alopecia-stricken Pomeranian, the ultimate Beverly Hills pampered pet, with his own canopied lounge by the pool and a wardrobe fit for a miniature drag queen with expensive taste and a love of pills. Giggy became an instant sensation, and even I couldn’t help but go nuts over that dog on Watch What Happens: Live, featuring him on the show more than many human Bravolebrities. Even when Giggy’s not with me, he’s there—his framed picture sits over my shoulder on the show.

On New Year’s Eve 2011, a new kind of TV history was made when I officiated—live—the first televised wedding between a dog and a cat. Lisa and Dina stood by as Grandma Wrinkles and Giggy committed themselves to holy matrimony. I’m sure the American Family Association let out a big “I told you so” in seeing that gay marriage led to exactly what they’d feared, unions of hairless animals of different species. And to tell the truth, at the last minute, I’d had doubts about going through with the whole thing. During the wedding rehearsal, I asked the obvious question we’d all overlooked due to our hysterical obsession with the housepets:

“Is this going to be stupid?”

“Well, it’s not going to be smart,” producer Caissie St. Onge replied.

Our ratings for the show peaked at 12:15 a.m., at the exact moment of the wedding. And while the Wrinkles-Vanderpump “marriage” was over faster than Kim Kardashian’s, it taught me something important: Don’t question the stupidity of a stunt you’re going to do on your show fifteen minutes after you’ve dropped a big ball of wigs from the ceiling to ring in the New Year. Stupidity is sometimes what it’s all about.

Giggy became so popular that he started a Twitter feed, @Giggythepom, and I’d find myself in a meeting, or on a date, as my BlackBerry buzzed with a fresh tweet. From a hairless Pomeranian.

From @Giggythepom to @BravoAndy “Oh woofee! Mistress and I saw next week’s episode but I’m not in it enough! I look cute though!”

From @Giggythepom to @BravoAndy “Rum Tee Tum, you moved my picture in the Clubhouse. Mistress and I aren’t happy!”

Giggy’s complaints about the placement of his photograph became a constant every week when I went off the air. If it was moved in the slightest, that “dog” would “notice” and I would hear about it. And the “dog” would rile up his followers to flood my Twitter with comments. Around the time Giggymania reached its fever pitch, the New York Housewives were returning for their fourth season. My BlackBerry buzzed.

From @realgingerzarin to @BravoAndy “Annndy! It’s me, Ginger! Follow me!”

It was Jill Zarin’s dog, Ginger. Ginger had always been a mainstay of the New York Housewives and what I’d call a yippety dog. And while I’ve been known to profess my love of ginger people, Ginger Zarin was just not my cup of tea. I used to rib Jill about how much I didn’t care for her Chihuahua and she’d jab back that I was going to one day fall in love with Ginger and beg to adopt her. I had my doubts.

From @realgingerzarin to @BravoAndy “OBSESSED yet uncle @bravoandy?”

From @realgingerzarin to @BravoAndy “Good morning Uncle Andy! Have a nice weekend! I know you will obsess over me someday!”

Now I don’t know if Ginger was tweeting for herself or if she was having someone else do it, but whoever it was seemed to have a poor grasp of how obsession works. Because it is rare that a person knows someone, or some dog, for four years and THEN becomes obsessed. It’s usually the opposite.

From @realgingerzarin to “Ask @BravoAndy where my picture is in the Clubhouse? Sad?”

From @realgingerzarin to @BravoAndy “Follow mommy @JillZarin and follow ME @realgingerzarin.”

Um, who was supposed to be obsessed with whom again? I wondered if I would seem crazy if I contacted my attorney about taking a restraining order out on a canine because I was being stalked by a dog on Twitter.

I didn’t have the heart to block @realgingerzarin, but I ignored the tweets and I never followed her. I had to draw the line somewhere. When Jill was booked on Watch What Happens Live’s one hundredth episode, the night of RHNYC’s fourth season premiere, she insisted on bringing Ginger even though I told her I was concerned that the dog would yip and yap through the show (unlike darling Giggy, who always seems … sedate … and was possibly born without a voice box). So, Ginger arrived dressed in what looked like a miniature Madame Butterfly outfit—a doggy kimono!—which Jill announced was “in honor” of the recent (devastating) earthquake in Japan … I did not even know how to respond to that one. I still don’t. During that show, Jill presented me with a framed picture of Ginger for the Clubhouse, further exacerbating my dilemma. What exactly were my obligations regarding this portrait? Did I dare risk the wrath of @Giggythepom by replacing his photo with Ginger’s? I try never to play favorites with Housewives, but wasn’t I allowed to prefer one Housedog over another? Was it really that big of a deal? Days later, in a long e-mail from Jill about some issues she was having with Bravo, she dropped this:

“Even Ginger asked me, ‘Mommy, why is Giggy (whose show is not in cycle) on WWHL and mine isn’t? Why doesn’t Andy like me too?’”

At first I thought that Jill (or Ginger) was joking, but the rest of the e-mail conveyed a pretty sincere tone. In my reply, I noted, “I am at a serious loss for words about your dog being jealous about my affection for Giggy. There are 30 dogs on Bravo.”

After that exchange, I