Dear Diary,
I’m officially classifying Reggie as The Fun Police.
Anytime someone tries to do something fun—play, bark, chase a tail, steal a sock—he’s alerting the masters. Barking. Whining. Reporting us like we’re criminals.
He’s paranoid. Always thinks the cats are after him. Always watching. Always tattling.
And worst of all? Whenever the masters give me love, he barks. When they talk to me? He barks. It’s like he can’t stand anyone else getting attention.
Now we have these collars. They beep. Sometimes they vibrate. Reggie says his buzzed once and he saw the future. We’re not sure what they do, but we know this: it’s Reggie’s fault.
He’s in the dog house. Literally. Figuratively. Emotionally.
— Signed, Willow the Wise (and Slightly Annoyed)