Dear Diary,
It is cold. Not “brrr it’s chilly” cold — I mean the air hurts my feelings.
As such, I have made a cocoon.
A fortress.
A thermal bunker of snuggly protection.
Dad wrapped me up in not one, but two premium blankets today. This is right and just. I deserve this. I require this. I am this.
Reggie Burrito is my final form.
But of course, Bellatrix has thoughts.
She slinked by earlier, tail flicking dramatically, and whispered:
“Reggie, don’t you see? The blankets are listening.”
Every. Day. Another. Conspiracy.
First it was lasers in the ceiling.
Then the government birds.
Now the Blanket Conspiracy™ — apparently the blankets are plotting something. I don’t know what, but she says Step One is “comfort,” and Step Two is “mind control.”
I’m not ruling it out, but also: they’re warm, so I will take my chances.
Despite the cold, Dad launched Operation Squirrel Ambush twice today.
He does that thing where he pretends he’s just getting up for a snack,
but then —
click
the door unlatches
swoosh
I am outside
and the squirrels scatter like furry criminals fleeing the scene.
Those little bird-feeder bandits taunt me.
They KNOW I’m wrapped in blankets 90% of the day.
They KNOW I have the speed of a sleepy loaf of bread.
Even when Dad releases me silently — like a Navy SEAL but with less cardio —
I still can’t catch one.
I ran after one today and he didn’t even panic. Just looked at me like:
“Oh noooo, the little French meatball is coming for me. Whatever shall I do?”
Rude.
One day I will catch one.
Maybe.
Probably not.
But a dog can dream.
Inside, I maintain order.
Ace tried to walk past me earlier.
Past me.
As if he pays rent.
As if he has privileges.
As if I am not the reigning champion of Household Dominance.
So I reminded him.
Quick chest puff, a power-stance wiggle, my patented “don’t try it, kid” stare.
He understood.
Balance restored.
Anyway, Diary…
The sunbeam is hitting my blanket fortress just right.
Dad is nearby.
The house is warm.
Bellatrix is in the corner ranting about how the squirrels are “agents.”
Life is good.
Until tomorrow,
— Reggie, Lord of Blankets and Defender of the Feeder 🐾