Dog Diary - End of Week 5 of My New Life

“Of Whiskey, Worship, and the Great Licky Mat Incident”

Dear Diary,

This week, I have stepped fully into my power.

Let us begin with the matter of the whiskey.

Luke-man, sweet fool that he is, placed a glass of 33-year-old whiskey on the coffee table and then… looked away. For a moment. A brief, catastrophic lapse in judgement.

Diary, I acted not out of greed, but love. I performed a taste test. For safety. For science. For Luke.

I can report that it was alarming, smoky, and not meant for princesses.

You’re welcome.

The woman, undeterred by previous failures, has finally discovered the one thing I will eat from a licky mat: frozen, no-salt chicken broth.

At first, it was bliss. Cold. Savoury. Enlightening.

Then the broth was gone.

Naturally, I attempted to consume the mat itself.

Now, licky mat time requires direct supervision, with the woman crouched nearby like a zookeeper watching a tiger with enrichment toys.

Luke-man hangs his work jacket on an exercise bike pretending to be a coat rack. Each day, I rub myself against it lovingly so when he is away, he carries my scent with him. This is not clingy. This is branding.

Diary… something extraordinary happened.

I got onto the lounge by myself.

No lifting. No assistance. Just determination, physics, and a whispered “oomph” from my legs. It only happened once — a sacred moment never to be replicated — but I will speak of it for generations.

Last weekend was NO BATH WEEKEND and I flourished.

This weekend, balance returned cruelly to the universe. The very first thing that happened after I woke up was… the bath. Not only the bath — my face was washed.

My face, Diary.

I stared at the woman in silence so she could sit with her choices. Afterwards, she attempted to console me but I turned my head away so she knew the only way to move forward was with treats, not mere affection. 

Yesterday afternoon, I believed my daily walk had been forgotten. I prepared my internal monologue of betrayal.

Instead, I was taken on a twilight adventure to the shops. While Luke-man fetched dinner, the woman and I wandered the grassy edges, greeted admirers in the car park, and explored calmly. It was quiet. Gentle. Perfectly scaled to my growing confidence.

I was magnificent.

Back to the vets this week for my monthly skin shot. I have gained one kilogram and now weigh 21kg, which I believe is called thriving.

There was a puppy at the vet who desperately wanted to play with me. I wagged kindly but kept my distance because the puppy was injured. I am compassionate. Mature. Possibly a role model.

I have officially declared myself a night owl.

Mornings are offensive. Breakfast is unnecessary. Brunch is a suggestion.

I prefer a late afternoon half-meal and then a proper dinner when most people are preparing for bed. This week’s menu included tuna, chicken, beef, kangaroo, vegetables, and a daily spoon of Greek yoghurt for “gut health.” I accept this ritual with mild suspicion.

Still no sightings of my neighbour woman despite daily walks. I fear she may think I’ve moved away or, worse, forgotten her. I have not.

I have developed a grunt.

I grunt when belly rubs stop.

I grunt when treats end.

I grunt when humans dare to use their hands for non-Sara purposes.

Often, I offer my paw to the woman simply so she may hold it. I then fall asleep in her lap. This is affection. This is control.

My daily routine is now sacred.

The garage remains a mystery portal where Luke-man disappears and reappears some days. After the woman finishes each day on the computer, we visit the deck to greet the plants. Then Luke-man emerges from the portal and we go for a walk. I am never allowed to cross the road myself because it is “too hot,” so I am carried like the treasure I am.

My front-leg licking has decreased significantly since my vet visit. The humans now believe it was 90% allergies and 10% habit. The woman says she was six minutes from a breakdown and compared my licking to water torture. 

This is unfair. The real torture is weekly baths.

Nail trimming continues. Most nails are now in maintenance mode, with one or two rebels remaining. I tolerate this like a stoic warrior.

This morning, we visited the man at the pet shop. I adored him immediately. He called me lovely and gave me pats. I then executed a flawless manoeuvre: I gently touched a pig’s ear with my nose.

The woman bought it.

I ate it when we got home.

End of Week 5.

Mission status: Expand Influence, Enforce Routine, Taste Forbidden Liquids — astonishingly successful.

I am calm. I am confident. I am deeply loved.

And I remain, without question, the main character.

Sara

Certified Whiskey Safety Inspector

Lounge-Scaling Legend

Mistress of the Strategic Grunt