When the Big Dog is Away by Kayla

Basically, I don’t have to do anything and everyone still loves me!

Chase the ball? Are you kidding? When The Billy throws it for me it’s magic, it’s cosmic, it’s a force as pure as gravity, but when Shelly throws it? Pfft. I’ll chase it, sure, but why bring it back when I can stop and sniff? She doesn’t seem to understand the dog’s bicameral brain: Billy throws the ball, and Shelly feeds me biscuits.

Hey, speaking of biscuits? Shelly bought me these things in a box with a medium-sized dog on it. I ask you, do I look medium? That’s why I ask for three or more. Shelly pretends she doesn’t know what I mean when I keep looking at the top of the fridge—does she think I’ll give up that easily? I have a whole repertoire for this: the deep rumble (not a growl; that’s totally different, and I save that for when I’m in the house and see women pushing strollers down the sidewalk), the short breathy woof, and then, if she’s still trying to make her coffee or eat breakfast, the full-out bark. I don’t mind this little performance; it’s our thing now. Something special I save for her.

Here’s a good trick: Sometimes, when Shelly gets this wacky idea that she can leash me up, I bite on the leash and pull pull pull! Too fun. She tried to dominate me when I was a pup—you know, pushing me down to expose my belly, biting the side of my face, talking in a low, loud, no-nonsense voice. It was just confusing then; I was like, whoa, who died and made you alpha bitch? But it’s good for a laugh now. “No!” she says. Cracks me up every time.

Big Dog is back from wherever. Whew! Finally, I can get some exercise.