My kids recently discovered a television show called Dog with a Blog. The show has an actual blog, supposedly written by the talking, blogging dog Stan. Stan writes about life with his family, as I write about mine.
My boys requested that I turn my blog into a dog blog written by our dog Star. They claim a dog blog is much more funny than a mom blog.
I already lost fantasy football to the dog. Now this.
Star’s Blog, April 12
Yesterday marked Day 3 without playtime in the front yard. Apparently, the battery on my pink collar is dead even though it’s new. I thought something felt funny for a few days, like how the boys say it feels when they forget to wear underwear… but I told no one.
And then I slipped effortlessly past the “line of pain” to race gloriously and freely around the neighborhood, down to the creek, up to all the houses with barking dogs, then back down to the creek.
Cookie enticements eventually got me snagged. Why do I always fall for that? Oldest trick in the book, and yet…
My mom said the least I could have done was to run off on a day that was warmer than 18 degrees. Her cheeks were red and she was breathing hard. I don’t know why she gets so mad at me. I’m cute, right?
That’s when the pink collar disappeared, and I lost all front yard privileges.
Do you know what it’s like to be stuck in the backyard where you can only hear the cars go by? No chasing them?
I can only imagine how many bicyclists and strollers I’ve missed terrorizing. I’ve worked so hard creating that path down the middle of the yard, tramping down the grass so it doesn’t slow me down. What if it grows over and I have to start all over again? It is spring after all!
And I’m worried about my friends. I don’t have a cell phone, and they don’t blog. I’m sure they are worried that something awful has happened.
Anyway, I’m hoping my family doesn’t notice the big hole I’m digging along the fence. It’s almost deep enough now to fit under.
I may have blown it though. I dug up the hose, and I have zero will power when it comes to the sprinkler system. If only I could have stopped chewing before it split in half. Now the two ends are sticking out a little too conspicuously.
Please don’t fill my hole. I need to get out.
To top off this week of confinement, my mom bought me a bed, which she placed on my favorite spot to sleep. She keeps smiling at me and telling me to lie on it as if she is doing me a favor.
I hate it. It’s too soft. It smells.
So now, in addition to losing my favorite place to play, I’ve lost my favorite place to sleep. Lying at the foot of the bed just isn’t the same as right next to mom, where she can rub behind my ears at 3 a.m. when I wake up from a bad dream.
If I could just get upstairs when she’s not looking, and chew it up…