Territorial Dispute

I have won a recent battle in the war over territory that I am waging against the Lady Who Dotes.

Don't get me wrong. I like the Lady Who Dotes. I get very excited whenever she comes home and feeds me. However, she has not yet learned that the back yard is mine.

You see, I am a free dog. Unlike Little Dog, who was purchased and is therefore a slave, I chose to live with the Guy Who Feeds me. I followed him home. I demanded to come inside the house and live with him. I sat on the sidewalk outside of the house and would not move. I made an eloquent and moving picture as I sat there with the snow falling on my head. I know how to use a door knob. If I want to go outside and you do not see that I am waiting patiently by the door to let me out, I'll just open the door myself. Despite the presence of a fence, I have, on occasion, felt the call of the wild, and have taken sabbaticals from the ease of urban living to light out to the territory ahead.

It used to be that I could mark my territory wherever I wanted in the back yard. But slowly, the Lady Who Dotes and the Guy Who Feeds me have replaced the sumac jungle back there with civilized, manicured plants. Now there are plants back there that I'm supposed to leave alone. But I won't. I have not yet met a plant that I don't want to mark. As a dog, I have a natural right to mark all plants. I think that John Locke said that. This right is married to my other natural rights, like life, liberty, and the ownership of property. And what God has joined together, let no Lady Who Dotes tear asunder.

So I wage a continuous revolution. My mark is deadly. I take out plants one by one. I have forced the Lady Who Dotes to retrench. Gradually, she has conceded territory. But she has also built a fence around "her" territory in an attempt to save her plants. I do not like barriers of any kind, be they doors or fences. I have written about my previous attacks on such fortresses.

After our last battle, the Lady Who Dotes conceded some territory. She moved the fence inward toward the smelly pile of food. For a while, I laid low. I pretended that I was happy with the truce that ceded me extra surface to mark.

But last week, I could not ignore the smelly pile of food any longer. It has been there for so long, tempting me. It is like the trash can, only bigger. I am continually frustrated with the policy that the Lady Who Dotes and the Guy Who Feeds me have instituted about the smelly pile of food. Instead of giving the leftovers to me, they give it to the worms. They call it composting. I call it Heaven Just Out of Reach.

Reader, I pushed down the fence. Then I tore open the front of the compost bin. Victorious, I shared my plunder with Little Dog. Later that night, she was sick all over the master bedroom.

Revolution

For several months, a large part of my territory has been cut off from me. For the entire hot season I have been forced to stand outside the garden fence and watch while the Lady Who Dotes spreads delicious-smelling, decaying grass clippings on the garden. I have been a good boy and just stood by while Little Dog, who gets away with murder, sneaked though the open gate and sniffed around in the mulch.

But this Saturday I had enough.

When the Man Who Feeds me and the Lady Who Dotes were gone, I pushed the fence back over the strawberries so I could graze in the delicious-smelling, decaying grass clippings. Little Dog was impressed. We had a feast.

Later, the humans replaced the fence. But they could restrain me no more! The next day, I pushed over the fence. It is now in pieces and part of it is hanging on the broccoli. Half of a zucchini plant is missing. I will never tell what happened to it. I have reclaimed what is rightfully mine.

Little Dog Has a Chewie

Little Dog has a chewie. She is chewing it in front of me. She is tempting me. I come closer, but she growls, and runs and sits next to the Lady Who Dotes, who will protect her right to the chewie.

I really want that chewie. I had a chewie, but I ate it all. That was five minutes ago. I do not remember that. I see that Little Dog has a chewie. Since I am a bigger dog, I should be able to take it. I cast my eyes up to the Lady Who Dotes to see if she has come over to my side. She says, "That's not yours." I lay my head down, disappointed.

Little Dog drops the chewie and goes to get a drink of water. I look at the chewie longingly, though I dare not take it. The Lady Who Dotes says, "You can have it now. She abandoned it." I look at the Lady Who Dotes, then I look at the chewie. I feel guilty. I do not touch the chewie.

Little Dog returns to the chewie, but she just lies down on top of it. I lay my head down and consider lost opportunities.

Vacuum Cleaner

I am not the histrionic dog that Little Dog is. I keep my cool. Except when you have a ball, or that one time when I went to the dog park and refused to leave the water because I was having too much fun, I am a Zen dog. If I were music, I would be Jazz. If I were an alien, I would be a Vulcan. If I were president of the United States, I would be Barack Obama.

But the vacuum cleaner undoes me. I see it come out of the closet and I get tense. I watch it from far away with a nervous look on my face. It comes near me, so move to my safe place between the chair and the ottoman. It cannot respect my personal space any more than it can respect my ears with its high-itched scream. It comes near me again. I move away, quickly, my tail down. I hide in another room, and hope it will go away.

No Plan B

My Get Cheese Plan is broken. Somehow, the clues I send -- my wagging tail, my soulful eyes -- are not producing the results that they have in the past. However, I have no practice in any other form of manipulation. If the Guy Who Feeds me or the Lady Who Dotes wouldn't put the cheese away in the Big Box of Food I could steal it when they are not looking. It would be better if they put it in the trash and then left for a few hours. Heck, I only need a few minutes. Why don't they go to a movie or something?

Cheese

I have been eating cheese for 12 years. I do not understand why I can't eat cheese just because Little Dog is sick. I will just look you in the eyes and wag my tail to show that I am a happy dog and deserve cheese. That should do it.

World of Riches

I found a tennis ball mine. There are endless numbers of tennis balls there. There is a lady there who takes them out and gives them to you.

Little Dog Has Disappeared; It Is Not For Me to Question Why

Little Dog has been missing for several days. All I know is that Guy Who Feeds me put me outside, then Little Dog went away with the Lady Who Dotes on me. The Lady Who Dotes came back. So far, no Little Dog.

This situation has not been bad. Without Little Dog there is peace and quiet. I don't always have to be on alert. Little Dog often malfunctions -- she barks at things and people and dogs who are not much of a threat. She is too sensitive and needs to be reset. Since I am the protector, because I am Big Dog, then every time Little Dog's alarm goes off I have to jump to attention. I'll tell you, jumping to attention isn't like it used to be. The hips are just a little sore these days.

Without Little Dog nobody barks at me while I'm trying to eat. That means I can eat leisurely. It also means that there is no one to keep the chewies away from me. Little Dog needs to give up her chewies more often. I don't like this sharing thing. I don't like when Guy Who Feeds and Lady Who Dotes tell me that "you've already had yours" and "that's not yours." When there's no Little Dog, it's all mine!

When Little Dog is here I don't like getting up on the bed. She likes to be there. It isn't fun when i have to share the bed with her. But now that she's gone, I'm on the bed all the time.

It's good to be the only dog.