Dear Diary,
It’s me, Reggie. The Snoring God. Ruler of the Couch. Protector of Our Walking Path.
First of all, the sun has returned. I would like to formally thank the universe. The warm beams hitting my fur? Elite. Supreme. 10/10 experience. And my oldest boy being home? Even better. I made sure he remembered who his favorite is. (It’s me. Obviously.)
Now… about these “nice weather” activities.
Apparently when the big bright ball in the sky appears, the humans lose all sense of reason. They start saying words like “Let’s do five miles!” and “Pick up the pace!”
Excuse me.
My legs were designed for dignified yard patrol. Strategic squirrel surveillance. Occasional celebratory zoomies. They were NOT engineered for marathon training. I am a gentleman athlete. A parade walker. Not an Olympian.
And then there’s Arya.
Listen. I support enthusiasm. I respect commitment to chaos. But does the entire neighborhood need to hear her declare war on every moving object? I’m simply trying to let the other dogs know, politely but firmly, that this is OUR walking path. A reasonable statement. A calm announcement of ownership.
Arya, however, chooses… volume that sound like violence
I’m convinced astronauts can hear her. One of these days her mouth is going to sign us up for something I did not consent to. I would prefer not to fight a golden retriever twice my size because my sister decided we were “sending a message.”
The only acceptable outcome of these extended expeditions is the post-walk reward: exclusive lap time. No cats. No interruptions. Just me wedged between Mom and Dad like the royalty I am. I do not share snuggles. I allow them to experience my presence.
Anyway, the sun is out, my family is home, and I shall continue my reign — loudly, proudly, and with a light snore.
Until next time,
Reggie
(The Snoring God)