A Day In The Life Of A Dog

7:05 AM. Waking up at home. Slept exceedingly well. Dreamed of chasing reindeer.

7:08 AM. A look out the front window. Fresh snow in the night. Plenty of new powder for me to run and jump in and roll around in. 

7:10 AM. Waiting on the human to come downstairs and feed me. Because the great dilemma for us dogs is that we don’t have opposable thumbs, and so we can’t get into the pantry. Which is a good thing, I suppose, because if I had ready access to a bag of kibbles, I’d eat the whole bag. And then I’d be sick. I’ve done that once. I learned my lesson that time.

7:14 AM. The human comes downstairs. I furiously thump my tail against the floor in excitement. Good morning, human! Isn’t it a fine day out there? Say, have you given any thought to my breakfast? Because it is the most important meal of the day, you know. Just as lunch and dinner and snacks are the most important meals of the day.

7:16 AM. Watching the human getting the kibbles out of the pantry, wagging my tail like there’s no tomorrow. Oh boy oh boy oh boy…

7:17 AM. Licking my chops after finishing breakfast. Just seven seconds off my all time fastest time of eating breakfast. The human says she should have named me vacuum cleaner. Why would you name a dog after something that is the very definition of terror to a dog? Besides, Loki is a perfectly respectable name for a dog. Especially when that dog is so fond of causing mischief.

7:23 AM. Inquiring with the human as to if she can let me out for my run. 

7:24 AM. Out the front door and bolting out into the snow. See you later, human!

7:27 AM. Sprinting through the snow, barking my head off, as happy as I can be.

7:34 AM. Trotting through the woods, sniffing at things, when I notice something up ahead in a clearing.

It’s that damned squirrel.

And he doesn’t see me!

7:35 AM. Patiently stalking the squirrel, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice…

He glances my way, and starts bolting for a tree. I start chasing. The game is afoot. 

7:36 AM. Foiled again. The squirrel has made it up a tree. I find myself circling around at the bottom, staring up at him, while he just sits there taunting and tormenting me. He’s actually laughing. The little bastard is laughing at me.

7:43 AM. The squirrel continues to torment me. I continue barking at him. Get down here and say that to my face, you little coward!

7:58 AM. My circling around the tree is of no use. The squirrel won’t come down, and I can’t go up there. And he knows it. Little bastard, just you wait. One day you’ll let your guard down, and that’s the day I’ll be waiting. It could be tomorrow, it could be next week, it could be next year. I don’t know, telling the time is kind of difficult for dogs. My point being that one of these days your luck will run out, and that’s when I’ll be there. Ready to even the score.

8:00 AM. Departing from below the tree. I can still hear that damned squirrel behind me, falling about laughing. I am in a foul mood right about now, believe me…

8:11 AM. Stopping by to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Spike takes one look at my expression and asks about the squirrel that got away.

8:13 AM. Spike and I confer on the audacity of squirrels to laugh at their pursuer when they get to safety. It’s like they’re trying to goad us. Spike urges me to be patient, and to remember that the moral arc of the universe bends towards dogs triumphing over squirrels. 

8:16 AM. Spike informs me that his humans are going to be having some of their relatives over at Christmas. Including children. He indicates he plans to go into hiding for the duration. I can relate to that, Spike, believe me. Fortunately my human’s Christmas plans involve visits to others, as opposed to letting the rug rats run wild here.

8:23 AM. Parting ways with Spike. We agree to keep each other informed by vigorous barking in case the squirrel shows up at either property.

8:38 AM. I have returned home. The human has opened the door to let me in, but has successfully blocked me from getting in. She is now applying the Towel of Torment to dry me off first. Come on human, there is no such thing as wet dog smell.

10:35 AM. Using my patented sad eyes look to convince the human to give me a cookie.

12:21 PM. I have successfully mooched a ham and cheese sandwich off the human while she's having lunch.

1:28 PM. Barking up a storm as the mailman drops off mail at the mailbox and drives away. Get lost, you fiend! And never come back, is that clear? Never come back!

6:32 PM. Dinner with the human. She’s made meatballs with broccoli for herself. She’s given me a plate of ground beef. Yum yum yum…. Especially the lack of broccoli. Why do humans eat that stuff anyway?

8:47 PM. Lying on the floor in the living room, pondering the great mysteries of existence. Why do parents tell their kids Santa exists, when he doesn’t? Are they just setting the stage to make their kids hate them or something?

11:23 PM. The human is off to bed. Well, good night, human. Sleep well. I’ll be on guard down here, ready to bark up a storm if the squirrel turns up on the outside windowsill at four in the morning. Just so you know in advance.