Dear Diary,
It’s me, Arya. Let me tell you something about my humans.
First of all, last night they had all these people over, and Mom and Dad wouldn’t even let us out to join them. Apparently they were “celebrating” because our two older kids are going back to college next week. Ugh. Rude.
Not only did they lock us out of the fun, but they also refused to share the delicious-smelling food. The audacity. The smells alone were emotional torture, and yet we were forced to observe from afar like peasants.
Then, as if the night couldn’t get worse, Mom brought out a brand-new blanket while she cuddled up on the couch. It looked soft. It looked fuzzy. It looked perfectly warm. Naturally, I assumed it was for us. Incorrect.
She wouldn’t let me share it.
Me. Her sweet puppy.
I understand not sharing with Reggie. He scratches things and hogs the blankets at night. But me? I even deployed my strongest puppy eyes, reminding both Mom and Dad that I, too, am cold and deserving. Still, nothing worked.
So here I sit at her feet, hoping she will offer me more than a single corner of that heavenly goodness. She insists otherwise.
I suppose I will give up… for now.
But tomorrow is a new day. And I will try again.
— Arya