It is time again for the point of view of the dog and cat. As always, the dog has the first word.
7:09 AM. Waking up at home. Slept exceedingly well. Dreamed of chewing on a nice stewing bone.
7:12 AM. Looking outside at the pre-dawn. More snow fell in the night. Such a pleasant sight to see. I’ve got to get out there for awhile and run around in it, but priorities first, Loki. Breakfast is my highest priority, and for that I require the presence of my human.
7:16 AM. The human comes downstairs. Hello, human! Top of the morning to you! Say, are you feeling as hungry as I am? Because I’m hungry.
7:18 AM. Wagging my tail furiously while the human pours a big bowl of kibbles for me.
7:19 AM. Licking my chops after devouring breakfast. Boy, was that tasty!
7:22 AM. Beckoning the human to let me out for my morning run. She complies.
7:25 AM. Running through the back fields, barking my head off, as happy as I can be.
7:33 AM. Sniffing around in the woods. Nice and cold today. The kind of cold that makes you feel alive. And happy to be out in. And then happy to get back in and by the fireplace where you can warm up your belly.
7:37 AM. Running into something much larger than I am on the path in the woods. Well, hello, moose!
7:38 AM. It turns out a moose doesn’t have much of a sense of humour. Getting chased through the woods by the big fellow. Note to self: don’t bark at something that big.
7:40 AM. The moose appears to have broken off the pursuit and is satisfied that I won’t bark at him again. For future reference, only bark at a moose from behind the window.
8:03 AM. Arriving back home. Barking to alert the human to my presence.
8:04 AM. The human opens the door and intercepts me with the Towel of Torment before I can run inside and shake off the excess snow in the living room. I sigh, but put up with the application of the Towel. After all… she feeds me.
8:06 AM. The human is finished toweling me off, and I give her a nice wet nose touch to the hand. Cold, huh? Oh, by the way, did I mention the moose? I don’t think I made a good impression. Just in case you’re wondering later why that moose is staring into the windows. Not that something like that would happen, I’m just saying in case.
8:49 AM. I think it’s time for a nap. Sure, I’ve been awake less than two hours, but I had a busy morning already getting chased by a moose and running around in the snow and facing the Towel of Torment. I’d say I’ve earned it. Therefore, I circle around three times on the rug in the living room before settling down for a nap. Belly towards the fireplace, of course.
11:17 AM. Waking up from nap. Looking at clock. Oh, good, I didn’t oversleep. I can mooch at lunch.
12:08 PM. My patented sad eyes look at lunchtime pays off. The human gives me a dinner roll. Ham and cheese! Oh boy! Yum yum yum!
1:37 PM. Barking up a storm as the mailman drops off some mail. Get lost, vile fiend!
2:44 PM. Coming through the living room when I notice something out of place outside the front window. Hey, it’s that moose! And he’s staring right at me!
2:46 PM. The human, alerted by my barking, steps out on the front porch and gives the moose a carrot. The moose accepts it happily. Say, human, you never give me a carrot. Wait a minute, do I even like carrots?
2:48 PM. Watching the moose head off away from the house. The human comes back in after bidding the moose goodbye. Oh, sure, human, give him a carrot, but tell me this: can a moose wag his tail? I don’t think so!
4:11 PM. I have just mooched an oatmeal cookie from the human. Yum yum yum!
5:03 PM. Coming to make inquiries with the human. Have you put any thought into dinner?
6:36 PM. Dinner with the human. Sausages cut up for me. I approve of this, human, I really do…
8:50 PM. Lying on my side near the fireplace, warming my belly. Pondering the great mysteries of canine existence. Does the tail wag the dog?
11:41 PM. The human is off to bed. Very well, human. Good night. Sweet dreams and all that. I shall remain at my post, guarding the domain against all threats, real or imagined. After all, you never know if this is the night the mailman decides to screw with our heads and deliver the mail at three in the morning.