Frank is always going on about something or other in regard to my activities. I don’t go to his job and tell him what to do and not to do. I do what I want! Just because Frank can’t accept the nature of who I am doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing what I love to do. Moments like these, when you meet the greatest opposition, you must remain firmly planted in your beliefs and resolution.
Frank can suck it.
Ever since Margaret went missing he’s had his boxers in a bunch. “Leave the trash alone, Dutch!” “Get off the couch, Dutch!” Stop digging in the damn yard, Dutch!” Jokes on you Frank, I will do all of them and pretend I don’t understand a word you’re saying…woof-fucking-woof.
Still…I can see why he’s always so disgruntled, Margaret gave the best belly rubs and ear massages. And if she did that for me, what she must have done for him! I miss her but I don’t miss that babytalk nonsense, I have smarts and intellect…I just prefer to let the people think that I don’t. Though there were a few times I was almost caught…it was nothing I couldn’t handle or wiggle my way out of.
Frank had the television switched to CNN and they were discussing the ravaging of a city in another country, and I watched, marveled that the people could be capable of such atrocities. It seemed like something a cat hell-bent on domination would do. And who are we kidding, cats are always hell-bent on global domination..it’s just the way they are.
Anyway, I was watching the news and making grumbling noises, to display my displeasure of watching a perfectly good hydrant go to waste on putting out a fire when Frank comes over, sits next to me and calls me a dumb dog. “What you looking at mutt? Like you have a clue about what’s going on in the world. You’re just a dumb dog that loves eating garbage.” He reached over to pet me and I snapped at his hand. How dare he insult me?! He calls his garbage “leftovers” and I am simply finishing what he leaves in the receptacle.
Dumb dog! Grmpf! Oh, Frank, Frank , Fraaaank…as if you are the epitome of intellect, you have the gall to insult me? If he only knew what happens when he’s away. I watch the news, I use the internet, have my very own Bit-her account, better than that Twitter crap, and I know where he keeps the good snacks hidden. Plus, and I love this – I use his toothbrush when he’s not home. Hey, a dog’s gotta have fresh breath. For the bitches. Bitches like fresh breath.
As soon as he falls asleep in the recliner…I’m gonna head to the bathroom and give my mouth a good brushing after I drink from the toilet, the water is cold, just like I like it. And maybe…just maybe I’ll dig in the spot where he says he planted those bulbs and chew them up. Yes, digging is definitely on the agenda.
He has now turned it to some show where the people are making tasty treats. This FoodNetwork….I am intrigued. There is a large plucked bird sitting in a bath of salted water…the woman who reminds me very much of Margaret calls it brining. Hmm….I will do this with the next squirrel I catch. I will use the toilet and the salt from the kitchen table. That should do it. But the roasting will be a problem. Perhaps the fireplace?? But how will I ever get it out? Frank would go into hysterics…actually, that would be quite fun to watch. The last time I brought a catch into the house he and Margaret had an argument.
She insisted I was giving a gift, which it was…for me, and he insisted that I was just murdering the wildlife on a whim. I am a hunter by nature…why does no one understand this? My ancestors were great hunters and diggers I’m sure. To deter me from this goes against nature itself. I will never understand the peoples.
Annnd…he’s snoring. Time to dig!
I’ve never known the earth to be as intoxicating as it is after a nice rain. My paws slide into the dirt with ease. It’s not quite mud but it is pretty damp. I move it in clumps and can see the beginnings of what looks like one of the bulbs…but I am mistaken. I pull at it, trying to unearth it and find myself needing to expend a bit more energy than I thought I would. I dig a little more and uncover the end of a bone! Oh!!
It’s a big bone, a lovely bone! With just a little meat left on it. Maybe Frank isn’t so bad after all. He knew I’d dig. I always dig. But was this his game?? I tug and tug, pull and pull until I roll back across the yard with the bone in my mouth. I inspect it and see that the end of the bone has something shiny at the end of it. Humans love shiny things. The neighbor has a ton of shiny crap in her yard and Margaret loved collecting shiny things, as a matter of fact, this looks just like the shiny thing that Margaret had. What are the chances?!
I’ll give the shiny thing to Frank and keep the bone for myself. Yes! Then he can give it to Margaret and she’ll come back and I’ll have all the belly rubs and treats I can handle. What a fortune I’ve dug up!
I lick the dirt off of it and make sure it’s clean before I bring it in. Maybe I should dip it in the birdbath? No, that won’t do. I’ll just take it in, he buried it and I found it. Just like he wanted me to do.
I run to the door with the bone in my mouth, Once I make it to my door, I have a time with getting it through, it’s too long. I have to assess the situation. The door is too small and the bone is too thick to bite into chunks. I’ll go in a different way…through the sliding glass. He ‘s sitting right next to the door and is still asleep. I wedge my paw in through the crack and gently push it to the side, so as not to disturb Frank. I’ll let him sleep while I have the bone. I’ll sit on the couch and chew while watching the FoodNetwork.
Oh…he’s waking. I won’t bark. I won’t bark. I won’t bark. Be cool Dutch. Beee cool. He’s up and staggering toward the kitchen. He’s gonna get a can of that gross drink. The drink that tastes bitter and makes my head swim. There now, he’s looking out at the yard. He’s walking to the sliding glass door…
“DUTCH! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”
I found what you hid in the yard, Frank. I am the good boy Margaret says I am.
“Oh Dutch! You… you…My heart!”
I jump down off the couch and walk over to Frank with my bone and the shiny thing dangling from the end. And I hear his breathing change as he drops to his knees. He’s wheezing and the drink is all over the floor. I push my bone to his nose and grips his chest. I rest the bone in his hand in excitement and he pushes it away…I lick the sweat forming at Frank’s brow and watch as Frank’s eyes roll to the back of his head.
Hmmm….Maybe he really was tired. I’ll leave him to rest and resume my bone munching on the couch. The woman who’s brining the bird is back on …she has gravy. I love gravy! It would go great with this bone!
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