Dear Diary,
Let’s get one thing straight right out of the gate: I am not a morning dog. I am not a people person either, especially before I’ve had at least 47 uninterrupted minutes under the blankets. If it’s cold out? Forget it. Absolutely not. That’s a hard no from me.
Every morning, Willow and Arya pop up like they’re being paid for enthusiasm. Tails wagging. Stretching. Ready to face the world. Disgusting behavior.
Me?
I do not move unless Dad moves. If Dad stays in bed, I stay in bed. That’s the contract. I curl deeper under the blankets like a burrito of judgment and refuse to acknowledge reality. Willow can prance to the door all she wants. Arya can sigh dramatically about the weather. I am busy being horizontal.
Now, on the best days — the truly blessed ones — Mom lets Willow and Arya out without disturbing me. These are sacred moments. Extra snuggles. Extra warmth. Extra time to sprawl out and claim the entire bed like the king I am. Honestly, if naps were an Olympic sport, I’d medal and still complain about it.
And can someone please explain the weather??
It was 70 degrees. Seventy. I mentally packed away my winter complaints. And now it’s snowing?? What the heck is this nonsense? Arya agrees with me. She doesn’t like the cold either. We had a whole meeting about it. Willow, of course, is fine with it because Willow is clearly broken. She likes the cold. Suspicious.
Speaking of suspicious behavior — Dad was smoking meats the other day. The air smelled amazing. Smoky. Delicious. Offensive. None of us wanted to be outside standing in the cold just smelling food we weren’t allowed to eat. Except Willow. She stood out there like a lunatic, sniffing the air and wagging like, “Yes, I will suffer for this.”
She’s nuts.
Anyway, I survived another day of being asked to get out of bed when I clearly did not consent. I will be filing a formal complaint with the blankets.
Grumpily yours,
Reggie 🐾😒