Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Saturday, December 16, 2017

A Day In The Life Of A Dog

It is time once again for the point of view of the dog and cat. As always, the dog starts things off...

7:16 AM. Waking up at home. Taking a big stretch and a yawn. Slept well. Dreamed of chasing nine reindeer who completely cheated by taking to the air and flying away. Which defies all logic if you ask me.

7:19 AM. Looking outside. Still mostly dark out there. Dawn will still be awhile. But it looks like there’s been more snow in the night. Which suits me nicely. 

7:22 AM. The human comes downstairs. Wagging my tail furiously in greetings. Hello, human! It is wonderful to see you! Isn’t it a great day? Say, have you put any thought into my breakfast? Because between you and me, I’m a little bit hungry right about now.

7:25 AM. Licking my chops after devouring breakfast just five seconds shy of my all time fastest breakfast eating. Quite satisfied.

7:31 AM. Requesting the human let me out so that I can take a ramble out among the snow.

7:32 AM. Out the door and on my way. See you later, human!

7:44 AM. Running through the back fields, barking my head off, dashing through the snow as that song goes. Woof woof woof!

7:52 AM. Stopping by to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Hey, Spike!

7:54 AM. Spike and I confer on various matters. The movements of the enemy and their bird feeder raiding. The excessive amount of mail the mailman is bringing these days. I don’t know about you, Spike, but I think those Christmas cards are some sort of evil plot at world domination that the postal service is trying to pull.

7:56 AM. Spike and I go back on forth on a hypothetical issue. If Santa was real, would it be wrong to bite him on the ankle when he breaks into the house on Christmas Eve? Would that be a bad dog or good dog sort of thing to do?

8:03 AM. Parting ways with Spike. I’ve got to get on home. My human needs supervision, after all. Plus there’s a pretty good chance I can mooch some Christmas baking while I’m at it.

8:19 AM. Passing by the house where that cranky cat lives. I think I’ll go on over and pay my respects.

8:20 AM. Seeing the cat in the window. Barking hello. She looks my way and starts hissing.

8:21 AM. The cat is casting all sorts of insults and threats my way. Okay, fine, be that way. I don’t know what I ever did to earn a cat’s hostility, aside from maybe barking at you out of a sound sleep a few dozen times just because I thought it was funny.

8:22 AM. Heading off from the house. The cat must still be staring daggers into my back as I go. I will never get why cats are the way they are.

8:40 AM. Coming back home. Barking to let the human I’m here.

8:41 AM. My attempt to get inside before the human can stop me is foiled by my human being just a bit too quick and applying the Towel of Torment. Come on, human, there is nothing wrong with the smell of a wet dog, and you know it.

8:58 AM. Circling around on the living room rug three times before settling down by the fireplace for a nap. 

11:04 AM. Waking up from a nap. Dreamed of the vet, constantly muttering bah humbug under her breath. That’s weird. Unlike Scrooge, vets are irredeemable.

12:17 PM. The human is having lunch. I am scarfing down a dinner roll I have successfully mooched.

1:30 PM. Barking viciously at the mailman as he drops things off in the mailbox and drives away. And don’t come back, do you hear me??? Don’t you come back!

3:43 PM. Mooching a cookie from the human as she has afternoon tea. Yum yum yum!

4:19 PM. Querying the human as to if she’s inviting any of her relatives over for Christmas. I just mean, if those kids of your brothers are around, I’m gonna have to make myself scarce, or go hang out with Spike for the weekend, or irritate that cat down the road. I’m just saying.

6:36 PM. Dinner with the human. She’s thoughtfully cut up some stewing beef for me.

8:21 PM. Lying on my back in the living room, pondering the great mysteries of the Christmas season. Is Rudolph the figment of a songwriter’s imagination, or a genetic mutation caused by the work of a mad scientist whose name rhymes with Brankenstein?

11:39 PM. The human is off to bed. Well, good night, human. I’ll stay down here for awhile. Maybe sniff around some of those packages under the Christmas tree. Don’t worry, I won’t knock the Christmas tree over. You do that once, and you learn that humans tend to frown on that kind of thing.


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