A Day In The Life Of A Dog

It is time once again for the perspective of the dog and the cat. As always, the dog gets the first say. After all, he is so easily distracted.

6:48 AM. Waking up at home. Yawning and taking a big stretch. Slept well. Dreamed of chasing a raccoon.

6:51 AM. Looking outside. The sun gets up before I do these days. Well, in fairness, I do like getting my sleep. The human’s stopped with the bird feeders now. Something about the bears being out and about. Well, that’s okay, I mean, my barking at a bear would make them run away, right? Of course right.

6:58 AM. Making plans for how I’m going to be spending my day. First of all we’ve got to think of priorities, right? And those include things like breakfast. Because breakfast is the most important meal of the day. In a four way tie with lunch, snacks, and dinner. And after breakfast comes time for my countryside wanderings. Which, these days, do not include digging into Mrs. Kowalski’s rose garden. Do that one time, and they never let you forget.

7:06 AM. …and don’t forget the all important barking at the mailman part of the day. Because that has to be done. As we all know, mailmen are inherently evil and must be thwarted at every step. What their purpose is in dropping off letters at the boxes every day, I don’t know. No dog has ever been able to figure out that arcane mystery. But surely it’s something nefarious and awful and along the lines of world domination. Because that’s the sort of thing that evil beings like mailmen and squirrels and vets are interested in.

7:12 AM. The human comes downstairs. I start wagging my tail furiously. Good morning, human! Fine day, isn’t it? The sort of day that makes you feel glad to be alive, I think. Now then, have you put any thought into my breakfast? Because I haven’t had a bite to eat since that cookie last night at ten.

7:14 AM. Thumping my tail against the floor with great expectation as the human pours me a big bowl of kibbles. Oh boy oh boy oh boy….

7:15 AM. Licking my chops with satisfaction after wolfing down breakfast in a time that was just three seconds off my all time fastest devouring of breakfast. That was good!

7:17 AM. Inquiring with the human as to if she can let me out for a run.

7:19 AM. Out the door and on my way. See you later, human!

7:28 AM. Running through the back fields, barking my head off, as happy as I can be. 

7:36 AM. Stopping in my tracks in the woods. There’s a big snapping turtle directly ahead of me. And he’s seen me. And he looks annoyed. Well, to be honest, snapping turtles always look annoyed. And cranky. And ill tempered. And whatever other description comes to mind. Wisdom coming from experience, I know they’re faster than they look. And discretion being the better part of valour, I’ll just back up and not annoy him anymore than he already is. See, turtle? I can be a good dog and not start anything. So there’s no need to hiss at me like that and start forward and…. Oh, no, he’s sprinting!

7:37 AM. I have somehow managed to climb up a part of a tree while being chased by that snapper. How, precisely, I don’t know, so I won’t remember how to do it when I’m chasing squirrels. Point is, I’m up here. And I’m not so high up that I can’t just jump down to the ground, because I can. Only not right now. Because that snapping turtle is glaring at me from down there and starting to circle the tree. Can turtles climb trees? I know they sometimes bask on fallen trees in the water.

7:42 AM. Attempting negotiations with the snapper. Look, I was backing away, okay? I am well aware that you snapping turtles have a tough reputation and are not to be trifled with or teased. So I was leaving. There’s no need to make those sorts of threats about biting my leg off. You just go that way, and I’ll go the opposite way, and we’ll call it even, okay?

7:45 AM. Asking the grouchy snapping turtle if that cranky cat from down the road put him up to this. His response is to hiss more at me.

7:49 AM. Jumping out of the tree and breaking out into a sprint. I can hear the grouch starting after me, hissing away like a demon, before stopping. I wonder what made him so irritable. Is there something crawling around in that shell of his besides him?

7:57 AM. Stopping in to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Hello, Spike!

7:59 AM. I relay to Spike my encounter with the snapping turtle. From the description, Spike says it’s likely Maximus The Terrible, who’s been around for at least twenty years. Well, he certainly wasn’t Maximus the Affable, I can tell you that.

8:31 AM. Returning home. Barking to alert the human to my return. Human! It is I, Loki, Annoyer of Mailmen and Chewer of Slippers! Open the door!

8:33 AM. The human lets me in the back door and I bolt in. If a snapping turtle shows up asking about me, I was in here the whole time, okay?

10:45 AM. Mooching a cookie off the human. Oatmeal! Yummy!

12:18 PM. Using my patented sad eyes look to coax the human into giving me a ham and cheese sandwich. Oh boy!

1:31 PM. Barking my head off at the mailman as he drops off some letters at the mailbox and drives away. Get lost, you vile fiend! And never come back, you hear me? Never come back!

3:56 PM. The human is having her afternoon tea. I’m having an oatmeal cookie that I’ve convinced her to part with. Life is good.

6:38 PM. Dinner with the human. She’s made spaghetti, but has made sure to have a bowl of ground beef for me. Apparently she still thinks that dogs eating spaghetti would be too messy. Come on, human, they did that in Lady and the Tramp, and that wasn’t messy.

8:40 PM. Lying on the living room floor, pondering the great mysteries. Why do they claim turtles are slow, when Maximus The Terrible clearly isn’t?

11:28 PM. The human is off to bed. I, for one, shall be sleeping lightly. In case Maximus The Terrible turns up at the back door in a foul mood.