Me and the Bird and Barking and Breakfast and …
By Tom Quinn, a dog
You might be wondering why I – me, a dog – am writing in this newspaper today, which – have I told you? – I like it. Me and Huckleberry both like it.
I licked a newspaper once and it tasted a little like Jeanette the Mail Carrier, who smells like paper and also like strawberries. Could be her shampoo, I wouldn’t know.
I’m writing this today – maybe not actually writing it, maybe just kind of thinking it, really – because Beth Quinn is washing the windows. I licked a window once – did I mention that? – to see if I could taste through it just like I can see through it but it didn’t work out.
Oh, wait a minute.
Phew. Where was I? Me and Huckleberry were just barking our heads off at something. I don’t know what it was, really. That happens sometimes. All of a sudden I’m barking. Don’t know what I was thinking.
So Beth Quinn said I could just tell you about my day, which has been pretty interesting so far to me. Don’t know how you’ll feel about it.
My day started at the crack of dawn – whatever that means but I heard Beth say, “It’s the crack of dawn for cryin’ out loud!” – when that stupid bird in the back yard began the terrible aaack noise over and over, waking me up just when I was having that great dream about digging up a dead cow leg. That’s my favorite dream, but I also like the one about catching a tennis ball just as I’m leaping into the pond. I forget where the pond is although I can almost remember. Sometimes when I get into the car I think we’re going there.
But the bird. Don’t get me started on birds.
So now that I was awake I noticed I should probably go out the dog door and take care of business before I embarrassed myself like the time … am I getting off track here? So I went outside and lifted my leg on the purple dinosaur out in the yard near the swing set. At least I heard it’s purple. I don’t know what that means, exactly. Maybe big, maybe slippery.
Also, while I was out there, I barked at the bird. Then the bird aaacked at me. Then I barked. Then it aaacked. Then I barked. Then we were barking and aaacking at the same time.
“Tom!”
I don’t know why it was my fault. Why didn’t Beth yell at the bird?
So now it was still the crack of dawn – this is turning into a pretty long story so far, isn’t it? Wait ’til I tell you about breakfast! And snack time! And supper!
Where was I?
Huckleberry – did I mention her yet? She is also a dog who lives with us and sometimes barks with me. One of our best barking times is when Diesel and Daisy Nelson across the street also do some barking.
Now, here is where my day gets interesting because it’s completely unpredictable. After Beth has coffee, she might give me breakfast. Same thing every day, not so interesting really, but that’s not the good part. If she doesn’t give me breakfast right away, it means she might open the garage door and take four tennis balls outside to throw to me and Huckleberry!
Sometimes the bird watches and aaacks at us, but I don’t even care! These are tennis balls we’re talking about! One time – and this might have happened today, not sure – the bird was on the lawn and I saw it and dropped the two tennis balls that were already in my mouth and …
“Tom!”
It would be so helpful if Huckleberry would just once in a while do something questionable, too, but she always stays focused on the game. Not sure what that means, but it seems to be an admirable quality.
Sometimes the tennis ball goes straight into my mouth when Beth throws it and I gag a little – almost puke, really – but who cares? This is tennis! The best! I never actually swallowed a ball, I don’t think. At least I only swallowed a ball in parts after I chewed a chunk off it.
After the game, me and Huckleberry have to turn in the balls, which is almost the best part because Beth trades us a treat for a ball. The good treats. The chicken jerky kind. Sometimes – should I confess to this? – maybe not, but I’m no good at keeping things to myself – sometimes I keep a ball hidden under ground so I can bring it to Beth later and then she gives me another treat for it. Me and Huckleberry both do this, actually.
Okay, so where was I? By now it’s not still the crack of dawn but it’s kind of the crack of dawn plus an hour. Not sure what that is.
And so next thing that happens is …
Oh.
No room for more words? But I was supposed to tell about my day and I barely got to breakfast – did I mention it’s the same thing every day? – and then me and Huckleberry got barking …?