It is time once more for the dog and the cat to have their say. As always, the dog gets things started.
6:47 AM. Waking up at home. Nice and bright outside. The sun’s up earlier and earlier every day. Of course, in just a few days that’ll stop, and it’ll start getting up later and later. Why is the first day of summer also the start towards winter?
6:53 AM. Staring out the living room windows. Birds out on the lawn, pecking away at the grass. I wonder what they’re after. I wonder if they know they’re being watched. I wonder what would happen if I possessed the ability to open doors by myself. Well of course I’d be out there in a flash barking my head off.
7:01 AM. Waiting on the human to come downstairs so she can get my breakfast started. Because as we all know, breakfast is an important part of any good dog’s day. And I am a good dog. A very good dog!
7:09 AM. Come on, human, how long does it take to shower? I can hear the pipes going, you know…
7:15 AM. The human comes downstairs. I wag my tail furiously in greetings and bark hello. Fine day, isn’t it? Say, have you given any thought to my breakfast? Because between you and me, I’m feeling a bit hungry right about now.
7:17 AM. Watching attentively as the human pours a bowl of kibbles for me. Oh boy oh boy oh boy…
7:18 AM. Licking my lips after wolfing down my breakfast. Boy oh boy, was that good!
7:21 AM. Inquiring with the human as to if she can open the door for me. I’ve got to get my morning run in, after all.
7:22 AM. Out the door and sprinting across the grass. See you later, human!
7:29 AM. Running through the back fields, barking my head off, jubilantly happy.
7:36 AM. Stopping in to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Hello, Spike!
7:39 AM. Spike and I compare notes on latest observed movements of the enemy lines. We suspect that the squirrels are plotting some nefarious operation for next Tuesday at nine in the morning, based on their hoarding of chestnuts.
7:41 AM. Parting ways with Spike. We agree to keep each other up to date on any further sightings of enemy movements, and he promises that he’ll alert me when the mailman stops by his place. Oh, don’t worry, Spike, he’ll get a doubly vicious barking from you and then me, and maybe that’ll finally convince him to stop coming down our road.
8:03 AM. Returning home. Barking to alert the human to my presence.
8:04 AM. Back inside. See, human? I can manage to get through a day without rolling around in mud or splashing in the creek. Mind you, I can’t make any promises about tomorrow, just so you know in advance.
8:37 AM. Circling around three times in the living room before settling down on the rug for a nap. Two times is too few, and four times is too many, but three times is just right, if you ask me, and of course you are asking me.
11:10 AM. Waking up from my nap. Oh, good. Haven’t missed a lunchtime mooching opportunity.
12:18 PM. I have managed to mooch a couple of sandwiches from the human while she’s having lunch. Ham and cheese really do hit the spot for a good dog. And I am a good dog. A very good dog. Just ignore what the mailman and the vet and the town mayor say, because they’re all against me.
1:32 PM. Barking up a storm of fury at the evil mailman as he drops off mail at the mailbox and drives away. Get lost, you coward! And never come back here again! Do you hear me? Never again!
3:54 PM. Mooching an oatmeal cookie from the human while she has tea. Yum yum yum!
6:31 PM. Dinner with the human. She’s been considerate enough to give me some of the ground beef she had on hand for something she calls shepherd’s pie. Does that mean it’s made from shepherds?
7:40 PM. Looking outside. Getting darker. Too early for sunset, and besides, those clouds in the west are looking rather dark and threatening and… human? Were we scheduled to get any rain?
8:07 PM. Barking my head off as rain pours down outside and lightning flashes. And where there’s lightning, you just know there’s going to be the terrible boom bang loud roar of thunder…
8:11 PM. Huddling behind the couch with my head buried beneath it. Sounds like the end of the world out there with all that thunder. Human! Batten down the hatches! Women and children first, or however that phrase goes! Save yourselves!
10:02 PM. The storm finally seems to have cleared off. The human looks at me and says it’s all perfectly normal and there’s no reason for me to cower behind the couch. I will have you know I wasn’t cowering. I was establishing my ambush position just in case the storm decided to break into the house.
11:32 PM. The human is off to bed. Well, good night, human. Sleep well. But please, keep the door open, because if there’s another storm in the night, I’m going to be sprinting upstairs and hiding under your bed and whimpering until the thunder goes away.