Hi, it’s Josie the Cockapoo, hoping to get this into the paper before Mum-Amy catches me. She doesn’t let me write often—something about too many run-on sentences and getting off track—but I’m turning 12 on the 12th of this month and I have some words of wisdom to share. Not that I understand everything.
For example, the other night I saw the sky light up in flashes of colors and heard blasting and smelled gun powder. At first I thought Mum might have planned a pre-golden birthday party for me, but then I didn’t get any bacon or jerky, so I knew I was wrong. After I understood it was to celebrate all that’s great in America, I was all in. After all, I’ve got it pretty good—except for the pills Mum and Dad keep sneaking into my food.
Yuk, yuk, YUK! Mum and Dad believe they’re so clever hiding them in liver sausage or pill pockets, but I find them by gum. I used to spit them out where they could spot them, but then they’d just try another way to hide them. Now I keep them in my mouth until I find a corner in the shadows. Then I spit them out and try not to show my glee. I’m an alpha and I don’t like being made to do anything. They should know that.
Although, there’s a lot I don’t understand, like why Mum insists on a daily walk. Once in a while, especially if I can walk by the river, it’s okay, but every day? Some days, I’d just rather sprawl out on the couch. Do you ever feel that way? In my younger years, Dad used to hook me up, and I’d run alongside his bike, but that’s getting to be too much for these arthritic joints. I realize that makes Mum sad, but it shouldn’t. It’s simply a part of aging and life.
Mum can be pretty sentimental. She still has “mousy,” the stuffed toy I used to play with as a puppy, and she still has the picture of me as a six-week old on the bulletin board. It’s pretty sappy, but I suppose I can get sappy, too. Sometimes I stare at Mum adoringly and I love cuddling with her on long car rides and if having my puppy picture up makes Mum happy, I’m okay with it. After all, making Mum and Dad happy is my job.
Contributing or having a job is important. I have little use for those do-nothing hounds who are too lazy to bark shrilly and warn their people about invaders. Why, just the other day, a scary-looking guy in a uniform walked up our sidewalk—our sidewalk!—with a big, rattling package. He tries this a lot, but I never let him get away with it. No siree.
I’ll be more social July 7th, 2:00, at the Kilbourn Library in Wisconsin Dells when Mum reads her new story, THE QUACK-A-DOODLE PARADE. We put on costumes and parade around, and then kids get to have their pictures taken by Dad’s antique red truck—it’s supposedly in the story. I don’t know this for sure, ‘cuz Mum hasn’t read it to me yet. Maybe someday she’ll figure out that I like to hear stories. So anyway, to hear the story I’ll get into my costume, do a few tricks for the audience (I love that) and have fun parading around.
M-mmm, I smell bacon, so I’m going to cut this short. Oh, I was supposed to share my words of wisdom. Here they are. We don’t need much in this life to be happy:—some decent chow, an occasional walk or an adventure, and a massaging belly rub or two. That’s all for now.
’Til next time.