Mini Moo Must Die
In the heart of Beverly Hills, luxury has a new face. And it weighs exactly four and a half pounds.
Valentina Bellacourt is breathtakingly, magnificently, almost poetically stupid. As the heiress to a glittery empire of delusion, she spends her days dodging thought processes and her nights surviving accidents that should, by all laws of physics, have killed her.
But Valentina's luck is about to run out of snacks.
Meet Mini Moo. To the world, she's a fluffy Pomeranian in a monogrammed silk sweater. To the rotating staff of the Bellacourt estate, she's a mechanical genius with the cold, calculating soul of a Victorian serial killer. She doesn't bark, she doesn't growl, and she doesn't play fetch. She studies hydraulic jacks. She masters industrial laundry sensors. She evaluates human behavior for structural weaknesses.
Mini Moo isn't just a "bad dog." She is an inevitable, silent force of nature who has decided that Los Angeles isn't big enough for both her and the woman who calls her "Mommy."
As the bodies of the estate staff begin to pile up in increasingly "accidental" and mechanically complex ways, only one thing is certain: In the city of dreams, some nightmares come with a pink bow.
MINI MOO MUST DIE A Horror Comedy for anyone who knew that the things under ten pounds were the ones you really had to watch out for.
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