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The Dogs Days of Summer
It’s hot. Too hot. I don’t want to do anything except lie
on the couch and lick myself, but there are things to sniff, people to sniff, and places to, well, sniff. So I
grab my squeaky toy and run down the hall. I try running amok, but this morning I can only make it up to running
askew. Or is it amiss? I always get those two confused.
Of course, before I can really start my day, I have to perform those boring daily hygiene activities. What a chore!
Roll in the grass. Shake. Repeat. It gets tedious day in and day out. In fact, even though I’ve only been
up an hour, it feels like seven. Then, of course, comes the things we polite women don’t discuss in public,
especially if we’ve just done these things on the neighbor’s front lawn and she is running after us screaming.
Does she know how unattractive she looks with that face? Think pug ugly.
Next on the agenda, breakfast. I have the usual – raw little turkey and a sip of soy milk, nonfat, of course.
A girl’s gotta watch her figure, you know. You may not care if that roll of fat around your neck keeps getting
caught under your collar and your haunches get haunchier every year, but I’m in the public eye. You wouldn’t believe
the pressure to stay thin. My ribs don’t show and I never hear the end of it. But I refuse to try that SlimDog
all the Hollywood dogs live on. Life’s too short as it is.
Then, of course, it’s time for my beauty rest. I’d like five or six hours, but usually have to make do with three
or four. And it’s not a restful rest either, what with the typing coming from the next room hour after hour and
All My Children blaring at noon. And the occasional vacuuming. Not to mention the new dog, Justin. All he wants
to do is play, play, play. I wish he’d grow up. Men! I’ve sent letters to the SPCA complaining about the conditions
at this establishment, but so far, nothing. I do my best – I crawl under a blanket to try to muffle the noise
and occasionally whimper quietly.
I’m not the kind of dog who’s really into exercise. I wouldn’t mind a walk by the river so much if there weren’t
always other dogs around. When I’m out, I like to be the center of attention. And no, that wet golden retriever
coming down the path, shaking all over everyone is not cute! You want cute, look over here fellas. And there
are always those dogs "friendly" dogs. Friendly my hindquarters! If I want to be mauled by large slobbering
beasts with horrid breath and no manners, I can get that at home. Can’t we all be civil? You say on your side
of the path and I’ll stay on mine. Just think how much friendlier things will be if I don’t have to sink my teeth
in your leg.
I come back exhausted from trying to teach everyone manners and yet I am expected to do more. I tell you, a bitch’s
job is never done. Today is Tuesday, so in addition to the mail carrier, the UPS guy, and that annoying little
girl who’s always hanging around trying to sell something, I have to contend with the trash man. I admit I kind
of like him. There’s just something about a guy who smells like garbage that gets me all hot and bothered. I
save my sexiest bark for him, but so far, he doesn’t know I’m alive. Oh, well, his loss.
Finally, my day is done and it’s time for bed. A few years ago, I treated myself to a king size bed. You may
think that’s a little extravagant for a girl who only weighs 23 pounds – okay 24, but I’ll deny it if you tell
anyone. But unfortunately, my people insist on sleeping with me, as does the annoying new dog. What kind of name
is Justin for a dog anyway? But I shall try to make the best of it. To sleep, perchance to dream of the garbage
man.
*Leigh Anne is taking the week off, so her 4-year old wiener dog, Maddy Lou, decided to share a page from her journal
with you.
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