Dear Diary,
I turned 8 recently, which means I am officially too mature, too wise, and way too tired for Reggie’s nonsense.
Let’s start with the barking.
Reggie barks at everything. Doors. Stairs. Mom. Dad. The idea of movement. Someone breathes upstairs? BARK. A door opens? BARK BARK BARK. How am I supposed to properly prepare myself for squirrel interception when he announces it like a breaking news alert? By the time I even think about standing up, the squirrels have already filed their escape paperwork.
And then there’s the sitting.
Why. Is he. Like this.
He doesn’t just sit near me. He sits on me. Fully. Confidently. Like my body is premium furniture. Sir, this is not a couch. This is a distinguished 8‑year‑old lady with joints that creak when it rains. Yet there he is, plopping down like his butt is too precious to touch the floor like the rest of us peasants.
I am tired.
Tired in my bones.
Tired in my soul.
Tired in the way only an older dog can be tired.
Most days, I simply sigh, adjust slightly, and accept my fate like the noble creature I am.
But.
Sometimes…
Sometimes Reggie pushes it.
Too much barking.
Too much sitting.
Too much being Reggie.
And that’s when I remind him.
A look.
A shift.
A very deliberate “excuse you?”
No chaos. No drama. Just a gentle but firm reminder that while I may be tired, I am still in charge.
Then I go right back to laying here, pretending I didn’t just assert dominance, because honestly? That took a lot out of me.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a nap.
Possibly three.
— Willow 🐾
Queen of Patience,
Reluctant Squirrel Chaser,
Still Not a Chair