Dear Diary,
January 5, 2026. Another day in the life of Reggie, the world’s most mistreated mutt. Can you believe Dad got that stupid Super Soaker for Christmas? I thought it was a toy for me at first—maybe something to chase or chew on. Nope. Turns out it’s his new weapon of choice for “discipline.” Spill my kibble on the floor? Squirt! Dig a tiny hole in the backyard? Squirt! Look at him funny? You guessed it—squirt! It’s like living with a watery drill sergeant. And let me tell you, getting blasted in the face with cold water is no picnic. It soaks my fur, makes me shiver, and ruins my majestic fluff. Upsetting? That’s an understatement. I feel like a drowned rat… wait, no, that’s insulting to rats. At least they don’t have to deal with this nonsense.
But oh, revenge is sweet—or in my case, stinky. The next time he pulls that trigger, I wait for my moment. Dad’s lounging on the couch, watching TV, all smug with his squirt gun at the ready. I saunter over, back up real close to his face like I’m just getting comfy, and then… BAM! I let loose a fart so epic, it’s like a foghorn from the depths of my belly. No tomorrow? Heck, no mercy! He gags, waves his hands, and yells something about “bad dog,” but who’s laughing now? Me, that’s who. Take that, water boy.
On the flip side, it’s kinda hilarious watching him turn that thing on the cats. Those furry little snobs think they’re so superior, strutting around like they own the place. “Oh, look at me, I’m a cat, I can jump on counters and knock stuff over without consequences.” Wrong! Dad spots one sharpening its claws on the couch—squirt! Another one batting at his shoelaces—squirt! They scatter like they’ve seen a vacuum cleaner, yowling and hissing. Dogs vs. cats? Please. We’re loyal, we’re fun, we’re the ones who fetch the ball. Cats just fetch attitude. Why did the cat go to school? To become a litter-ate jerk! And don’t get me started on their nine lives—must be because they keep wasting them on naps and knocking over vases. Me? I’ve got one life, and I’m living it by out-farting the competition.
At least things are looking up weather-wise. It’s finally getting warmer out—no more freezing my paws on those icy walks. Spring can’t come soon enough! I dream of rolling in fresh grass, chasing squirrels without slipping on snow, and maybe even convincing Dad to ditch the Super Soaker for a real toy. Like a bone. Or a ball. Or anything that doesn’t involve me getting a surprise shower.
Until next time, Diary. Stay dry and gassy.
Woofs and toots,
Reggie