The Life of My Dog

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It’s not that I don’t like a little excitement now and then.  Mixing it up keeps me alert and gives me job security as the protector of the home.  I know I’m making a difference when I do my rounds and find something I can bark at.  When I find a little activity out of the ordinary by some neighbor and can let you know about it, I feel alive.

To bark, eat, crap, pee, sleep, and walk around in circles, well, this is my destiny.  Don’t get me wrong; I do enjoy racing through the backyard at breakneck speeds retrieving that tennis ball you chuck into my elimination zone in the “back 40.”  Having you scratch my hips is da bomb next to licking my own paws (etc.) and your rubbing behind my ears or belly.  I just melt into your hands when you hold my beak and tell me that I am a “good dog.”  It’s easy to turn on my big brown puppy dog eyes at times like these.  It’s clear that if I do, the scratches will last longer and I do know how to work it too, you know.  I am a smart dog.

But what’s up with the hotel room?  Life was great with the lady alpha home because she spent so much time talking sweet nothings to me.  I don’t know why she suddenly was home so much after March of last year but I liked it.  Then that long red-haired gal came in and out of the kitchen and said a sweet “hey” to me inbetween naps.  My workouts with the tall guy were amazing as I leaped into the air rescuing that wretched green fuzzy ball from space and wrestling around in every contortion I could never imagine.  Plenty of naps filled my day, table scraps highlighted the menu, and I even got a little pudgy.  Life was good.

Now the square footage of my domain includes navy blue carpeting that shows off my shedding hair nicely and some kind of a big doggie bed on which two of the alpha’s take their own nap all night long.  I do like the two flights of stairs up to my new abode but not the soggy dog zone out back visited by who knows what kind of canine trash.   Where’s my pond?  Where’s my field?  Where’s my life as I knew it?

I guess this is the life of this dog for now.  At least that gal with the brown hair is more energetic and has started taking me out on walks in the parking lot of some concrete jungle behind this sea of giant dog houses.   And the tall guy ran me around a sand pit last night that was soft on my joints and a perfect spot to dump my stuff.  He is sooooo fun!

Better get back to work.  There’s someone dragging a case of something up the sidewalk and I must see if they intend to come too close to my reinforced territory.  Ah, to be needed.  Ah, to be loved.  Woof.  Woof.

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