I'm Kiah the Wonder Dog. Here I am again, with my head tilted the other way:
I could be a model.
I am the leader and protector of my family. This is not understood by everyone, but they will learn.
My family's two greatest nemeses are the vacuum cleaner and the fat cat who lives next door. The broom comes in at a close third.
My adopted mother, Holly, who is pale and not fuzzy at all, does not understand how incredibly dangerous the vacuum cleaner is. In fact, she loves it. She calls it her best friend. I think she does this just to irk me. I have tried repeatedly to warn her that her so-called "best friend" is probably a fat cat disguised as a high-end cleaning device. I bite my adopted mom's calves and growl and attack the thing with an intensity that rivals a lion tearing a gazelle to bits.
I do this out of love.
My non-fuzzy adopted mother always puts me in my crate when she gets the thing out. She says she can't deal with "The Sound AND the Fury." I think I am the Fury.
I worry about her.
I used to be afraid of the fat cat next door. Now, I am a big girl who fears NOTHING. I wait for it to cross our yard. Just try it, I say, while staring it down. The adopted mother has expressed concern that I will catch it and tear it to pieces like a lion eating a gazelle. She doesn't understand that the fat cat is a horrible, manipulative, and cruel animal that must be kept away from my family.
When I am not busy protecting my family from the many evils of this world, which do not include other dogs or people, I like to chew on things.
I love nerf. Nerf is a substance made specifically for chewing. My non-fuzzy adopted brothers and sisters get so mad when I chew on nerf. I don't understand this. They NEVER chew on nerf, so what, exactly, is their problem? I would gladly share. They've taken to hiding it from me. I always find it, though. I'm an excellent finder.
Man I love to chew. I have chewed up those ridiculously fun hanging blinds in the sun room. The adopted mother is getting new ones, because she loves for me to have fresh things to chew on. She really cares about me. That's why she leaves food, sometimes, on the counter for me get. I love to jump up on the counter! The adopted mother calls me a "horrible, horrible counter surfer." She has a number of wonderful terms of endearment for me.
I am an excellent jumper. I can jump up and pull down the mini-blinds. Then I chew them up.
I chewed the white knobs off of the Etch-a-Sketch. My adopted brothers and sisters were so impressed, they went and showed their mother right away.
I chew cookbooks, milk containers, shoes, my little adopted sister's play food, legos, and much more.
I rip apart stuffed animals like a lion tearing a gazelle to bits.
I'm a social animal. I have a friend in the neighborhood. We've never seen one another, but we talk constantly. I bark, then he barks, then I bark, then he barks. This can go on and on and on. We have riveting conversations.
"I'm a dog!" I say.
"I'm a dog!" he responds.
"I'm a dog!" I say.
"I'm a dog!" he responds.
We talk like this for a while. It's so good to be able have meaningful conversation with another dog.
The adopted mother is nice, but she doesn't feed me enough. While the human brothers and sisters get three meals and two snacks a day, I get two paltry helpings of puppy chow and an occasional treat. I have to sit down and roll over for the treat. It's strange, but my human brothers and sisters do NOT have to work for their snacks. This bothers me, so sometimes I steal their teddy grahams or cut up apples. Then they squeal and tell my non-fuzzy adopted mother, who chases me and pries the food from my mouth. If she actually gets the food, which isn't often, she throws it in the garbage. She would rather throw the food in the garbage than let me eat it, which is a level of cruelty I hope you never become familiar with.
No matter. I can knock over the garbage can, no problem.
The adopted father, who is by far the fuzziest in the family, loves me the most. I can't help it; whenever I see him, I wiggle my stumpy tail and jump up and down.
Sometimes, he shares his lime chips with me. He doesn't shriek and carry on when he finds one of my baby canine teeth on the floor, like my adopted mother does.
Somtimes, I wonder if she is part cat. It would explain her irrational loyalty to the vacuum cleaner.
It is exhausting being me. I am always vigilant, and rarely rest. There is so much to explore and steal and chew. By 9 pm, I crash. Then, suddenly, the non-fuzzy adopted mother loves me.
She pets me, coddles me, and gives me a good massage. She coos and puts her feet under my belly to keep them warm. And I oblige her, because it is my job.
I am her leader and her protector. One day, she will accept this, and we will all be better for it.