Dog Diary — The Age of Barking Has Begun

Working Title: “The Sound of My People (Is Me Barking At Them)”

Mission: Ensure Humans Respond Immediately To All Requests.

Status: Progressing Exceptionally Well.

Dearest Diary,

It has been some time since my last official update, and while I would love to tell you that life has been calm and uneventful, that would be a lie.

For you see, Diary...

I have discovered my voice.

And what a magnificent voice it is.

For years I apparently possessed the ability to bark and simply chose not to use it. Looking back, I can only conclude that I was saving it for special occasions.

Now I have realised something important:

Barking gets results.

Now, if I have an opinion, the humans hear about it immediately.

The other night the humans were eating dinner and I decided their food looked considerably better than mine.

BARK.

The woman informed me she would not be sharing.

BARK BARK.

I have also discovered barking is remarkably effective when I require transportation.

Now, Diary, I am fully capable of jumping onto the lounge.

I have done it.

The humans have witnessed it.

I know I can do it.

The humans know I can do it.

BARK.

Why would I perform a difficult athletic manoeuvre when I have two perfectly functional humans available to lift me like the princess I am?

The Great Shower Incident

My finest performance occurred recently while Luke-man was in the shower.

I suddenly realised I wished to go outside.

Immediately.

Not in five minutes.

Not after the shower.

Now.

So I stationed myself at the back door and barked with such urgency that he came sprinting out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, water flying everywhere.

He looked around wildly, panic in his eyes. He genuinely thought there was danger.

I looked back.

He asked if there was an emergency.

There was.

I wanted to go outside.

Rain, Rain, Please Go Away

The weather has been absolutely dreadful.

Rain.

More rain.

Then additional rain.

The sort of rain that makes the humans stare out the window and say things like:

"Maybe tomorrow."

This has significantly impacted my adventure schedule.

The headland walks have become rare treasures.

The park excursions have been reduced.

And Queen Sara has spent many days staring sadly through windows wondering whether the outside world still exists.

The Woman, attempting to solve this problem, continues her campaign to teach me a game called "Find It."

The rules are simple.

She hides carob treats.

I find them.

The issue is that I fundamentally disagree with the concept.

If everyone already knows where the carob is...

why are we pretending otherwise?

The Woman calls this "mental enrichment."

I call it "administrative inefficiency."

I remain convinced that carob should simply be delivered directly into my mouth.

The Lump Incident: A Most Unpleasant Development

A few weeks ago, the household experienced what the humans refer to as "a scare."

I prefer the term:

"An unnecessary medical subplot."

One of the lumps on my back leg suddenly developed a very large blood blister.

Then it burst.

Diary...

One minute there was a lump.

The next there was a very large, very deep wound.

The humans immediately went into crisis mode.

Bandages appeared.

Phone calls were made.

Voices became serious.

I remained calm because somebody had to.

The humans took me to my special vet.

The vet complimented their bandaging skills, which the humans were absurdly proud of.

Apparently there was concern that if the wound didn't heal, I might need surgery and something called an "open wound recovery” as there might not have been enough healthy skin available to close the wound afterwards.

The Woman and the vet talked at length about the condition of my skin after years of infections and inflammation.

There were... complications.

Healing concerns.

There was also some very serious conversation involving hushed voices and a phrase that sounded suspiciously like "youth in Asia."

I don't know what Asia has to do with anything.

Humans are strange.

But then, because I am Sara and refuse to follow ordinary rules, the wound simply healed itself.

Just like that.

The skin closed over beautifully.

The vet was delighted.

The humans were delighted.

I was delighted.

A very satisfactory outcome all round.

A Fashion Icon Visits the Vet

More importantly... I would also like it formally recorded that during this vet visit I was wearing my magnificent pink winter jacket.

Diary.

I was a sensation.

A phenomenon.

An icon.

The vet nurses became so excited that some of them reportedly went into the back rooms and told other nurses they simply had to come and see me.

Not because of my wound.

Not because of my medical history.

Because there was a bull terrier in a pink jacket sitting in reception looking absolutely fabulous.

I accepted the attention with my usual grace.

The Return of the Headland

There has at least been enough sunshine recently for a couple of headland walks.

And something remarkable has happened.

I now have regulars.

Actual regulars.

People I see every time I go.

People who know my name.

People who stop specifically to say hello.

Every walk has become a social engagement.

Tail wags are exchanged.

Greetings are conducted.

Admiration is received.

I have become something of a local celebrity.

The humans call this "being social."

I call it "maintaining my fan base."

Winter Has Arrived

As the weather cools, I have also adjusted my daily schedule.

The humans call it "sleeping in."

I call it "energy conservation."

Most mornings I remain in the giant queen-sized bed long after the humans have started their day.

The humans check on me regularly.

They pull blankets over my belly.

They make sure I am warm.

They whisper about how cute I am.

It is exhausting being adored this much.

Eventually, usually sometime around midday or early afternoon, I decide enough beauty sleep has been achieved.

I emerge.

The humans celebrate as though I have returned from a long voyage.

Food appears.

Cuddles appear.

Belly rubs appear.

Frankly, it's an excellent system.

The Laundry Situation

I have also developed a fascinating new hobby.

Laundry.

Specifically: any laundry that is not where it belongs.

Any laundry.

All laundry.

One sock on the floor?

Mine.

Freshly washed shirt?

Mine.

Clean towels?

Also mine.

The humans frequently place clean washing on the bed with the intention of putting it away later.

They never do.

Eventually Luke-man moves the pile to the corner of the room.

This is where my opportunity arises.

I launch myself into it immediately.

I roll.

I stomp.

I nap.

I wipe my mouth on it.

I redistribute fur.

I ensure every item carries my scent.

The humans think I'm being cheeky (but they are never mad).

But Diary, I am actually providing a valuable service.

When they leave the house later wearing those clothes, they carry a little bit of Sara with them.

A fur-covered reminder of how much I love them.

You're welcome.

Final Thoughts

Overall, life is good.

The rain will eventually stop.

More adventures await.

My wound has healed.

My humans remain appropriately devoted.

There are still walks.

Still fans to greet.

Still blankets to steal.

Still laundry to claim.

And most importantly…

there is barking.

Lots and lots of barking.

Because after thirteen years of life, I have finally realised an important truth:

If you have something to say,

say it loudly.

End of Entry.

Mission Status:
Healthy. Cosy. Adored. Increasingly Opinionated.

Sara
Queen of the Queen-Sized Bed
Local Headland Celebrity
Patron Saint of Clean Laundry
Adorabull in Pink
And Newly Appointed Director of Barking Operations 🐾