Dog Diary — Week 1 of My New Life

“I Am the Main Character (And Everyone Should Act Accordingly)”

Dear Diary,

This week I made a discovery so powerful, so transformative, that I fear the world may not be ready for it.

The humans call it “bedtime.”
I call it SHOWTIME.

Diary, at approximately 11pm each night, the universe aligns and something inside me awakens. I become a theatre icon. A drama scholar. A four-legged Shakespearean prodigy. The woman says, “Sara, sweetie, it’s bedtime,” but she is wrong. It is not bedtime. It is my nightly one-dog Broadway debut.  Legs go stiff. Eyes widen. I flop like a Victorian widow. I move the blanket, I upset my bed, I throw my pillow. Truly, my performances are breath-taking.

Midweek, I watched a movie. There was a human in it. A human named Kevin Bacon.
Diary… I love him.
I don’t know who he is, what he does, or why he is shaped like that, but I saw him once and decided I would die for him.

Then… betrayal.

The woman forced me to wear a t‑shirt.
She claimed it was to protect her belly from my “gnarly little velociraptor claws” because my belly was itching.

The shirt said I was a BAE — Bacon And Eggs.
At first I was offended, but then I remembered Kevin Bacon exists, so actually, that’s fine.

We had visitors. Two of them. 
Diary, it was the greatest moment of my life.

I zoomied.
I tail-chased.
I leapt.
I wiggled.
I bestowed cuddles upon them the way a benevolent queen bestows gold coins on peasants.

They said they love me (obviously) and that they want me to live with them.
BUT FIRST they must see how I go around chickens.

Diary… I will be great around chickens.
I love chickens.
They are delicious.

Speaking of greatness, I learned a new ritual:
“Stay on your bed during human dinner.”

It sounded awful at first, but then they gave me a GOAT horn, which stands for “Greatest Of All Time,” which is obviously me, so I accepted this honour and crunched it like royalty.

That night I dreamed so hard that I barked, ran, and karate-chopped the air in my sleep.
This is called “range,” Diary. Kevin Bacon has it. I have it too.

During the week, I showed the humans just how beautifully I walk on the lead. I floated. I strutted. I sashayed. Then I found a tree that smelled like bubblegum, and I stared at it lovingly for a full five minutes. I think the tree and I have something special now.

The woman also discovered my “sleep spot.”
Air con at 23 degrees. Fan on low.
She sits down, and I immediately fall asleep in her lap like a warm furry sandbag designed specifically to prevent her from peeing.

I’m doing important work.

AND THEN, Diary… the green goo returned.
Aloe vera.
She slathered it on my belly and under my neck. MY RED SORE SKIN TURNED FLESH COLOUR. I STOPPED ITCHING. I ascended spiritually. I slept so deeply on Thursday that man-Luke had to perform a “proof of life” check to make sure I hadn’t evaporated.

I haven’t slept that well since the womb.

I also went to a place called “the vets.”
A man poked my ears, inspected my belly, and gave the woman medicine for me.
I am an excellent patient and gobble my tablets like a polite little alligator.

Then yesterday I went to a place called “beach.”
The woman poured salty water on my belly and feet to evict bacteria living rent-free on my skin.
Then I had ANOTHER bath with medicated shampoo.
I am now so clean the humans claim they could eat off me.
I would strongly prefer they did not.

The visitors returned again.
They said they can’t stop thinking about me (understandable) and that in a couple of weeks, once my medicine is finished and my skin is beautiful again, I might be able to go stay with them.

I wagged so hard I nearly achieved lift-off.

Finally… the nail trimming.
Diary, I do not adore it. But I cooperate because I am noble and brave and also suspect the woman likes me. I stretch out my paw dramatically, like I’m fainting in a soap opera, and let her file away.

Operation “Kill ’Em With Kindness” continues.

Sara
Professional Good Girl
Kevin Bacon Enthusiast