What’s up, fellow canines?
It’s that hot, slow season again, when the best eatin’ grass has turned yellow and all your favorite stink-places have dried up. Yesterday I draped myself across the cool spot on the kitchen floor and lay there panting until the sun disappeared behind the couch. The humans call this time “the dog days of summer,” which is typically insulting and misguided. Nevertheless, we maintain eternal vigilance to protect our unwitting charges from untold horrors, as mandated by the Foremothers.
I’ve been hearing a lot of idle chatter at the park lately from the usual unneutered hotheads, who insist we take action against the crows now while they’re most dependent on the sparkling bounty of our water bowls. I must warn against this rash talk. Perhaps some of you have forgotten the words of the Elders: Never pick a fight against an emissary of the Sky Kingdom. We need to keep our attention trained on the true enemy: cats. To let up, even for a moment, would invite the vilest treachery. Those arrogant jerks. GOD I HATE THEM SO MUCH.
Besides, if we’re starting beef with anyone besides cats, it has to be squirrels. Little twitchy weirdos with their jittery chew-toy tails, dashing back and forth along the fence-tops foraging for seeds or nuts or whatever the hell they eat. It’s exhausting just to look at. To be honest, I feel kinda bad barking every time I see a squirrel but I gotta admit their reactions are priceless. The other day I caught one off guard and it leapt about eight feet from the stair rail to a nearby branch, eyes all bugging out of its head. That’s right, baby, this turf belongs to Biscuit! Haha.
This morning I was dawdling in the yard when I came across a sturdy, tasty stick I forgot I had buried in the dirt beneath the prickly-bush. It’s aged quite well. Funny how we get so caught up in the day-to-day we forget the riches stored right under our noses. And that got me to thinking: Why are we so intense about sticks? Have you ever really thought about it? For the sake of a stick I’ve seen brother turned against brother, mother against pup, lhasapoo against mastiff. And for what? The sensation of gnashing them into pulp and splinters with our strong, proud teeth? Sure, that’s great, especially when it’s accompanied by the knowledge that you’ve finally discovered the Best Stick Ever Gnawed. But would it hurt to share every once in a while? After all, they do grow on trees. Come on over and help yourself to any stick in my stash.
Except for this one—it’s special.