Happy Friday Everyone,
Our old dog is trying to change the rules to mom bringing her a banana treat every morning. So far, Mom has resisted the idea with a sing-song chant ba-na-na to entice her dog downstairs. I read the story to Ginger last week and sounding like Mark Twain, she karen-groans, lies, and damn lies! So, this week I offered to express her many complaints in her karen voice.
Dad gossips about me from his twisted point of view. His falsehoods cover inaccuracies to outright untruths. However, his unfairness accelerated to a new level in its treatment of me, the ever-faithful family protector, comforter, and head of the house. Let me spread the truth regarding his deceiving role in the house.
The other day, this tyrant of a man screams uncontrollably at me to get my “Fat Furry Butt” out of the kitchen. This is from a man who is one donut shy of playing the Stay Puft Marshmallow Boy. Here I am serving the family for ten years at the same weight as when I was a spry young puppy, and he has the nerve to call me fat.
During last week’s wind storm, the neighbor releases a box to attack us. This box creeps suddenly and incrementally towards our house. At times, it flies high into the air in preparation for a frontal assault against the house. My first response is to let out a warning yelp to caution my family in the house. Then I start my strategic scaring howls to keep the hideous instrument of destruction away from our yard.
Dad, in his infinite gullibility, comes out and laughs at my protective baying. “It’s a little box. Why are you carrying on like that?” as he grabs my leash and leads me back into the house. He doesn’t understand the power of devastation the box of that magnitude has in tearing down our house.
As spring brings more sunshine, Mom opens the blinds on the bedroom window. This allows me to survey the neighborhood with an elevated view to spot danger and potential crises effecting my family. The two shady dogs down the street pretending to play when they are really planning our demise are my main point of concern.
Occasionally, when their plans of torture become quite troubling, I will politely remind the people of my house of their threat by giving a cultured bark. Dad yells at me to stop and then closes the blinds and maneuvers the louvers to eliminate my sightline to the peril. He has no respect for my position in the house.
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