Monologue: It’s My Birfday and I’ll Bark if I Want to.
I didn’t want to celebrate my birfday this year, but these jolly jackholes decided otherwise.
Instead of laying around the house, and having a nice, relaxing day watching for the mailman–he doesn’t bring phone books anymore, so it’s fun–I took a car ride to the office.
I toddled in on my leash, as usual. It looked and sounded like another typical day. Tyler was on the phone, so I couldn’t play with my squeaky toys. My tennis ball from yesterday was still wedged under the Craftsman, and the coffee snobs were hard at it again. Today should be a do
g-gone good time. Ruff.
These birfday bandits must not think I have any friends because they only invited themselves. Well, the UPS guy stopped by for a minute and brought me a treat, which he does every day. Oh, and the guy from the dry cleaners stopped in, but I don’t think he knew it was my birfday. He just nodded. Hazel wasn’t even here to Paw-ty. Her mom probably doesn’t think she’s mature enough for a shindig of this caliber. Ruff.
I figured I better check out the ballyhoo going on downstairs. Maybe someone took the last Diet Coke from the fridge and all hell was breaking loose. Then, I spotted the massive white bone. ‘Guys, you shouldn’t have,’ I thought. Even new food bowls packed with tasty treats, just for me?! I sat and waited patiently as the Empress and the Scribe held the camera in my face. “Smile, Tonic,” they said at this angle. “Stay, Tonic,” they begged at that angle. I only smile when I’m about ready to puke. They should know this by now. The Cog Whisperer turned into the Dog Whisperer by using Milkbones as a decoy to get my attention for the party hat. Party Hats?! You know I don’t like hats! Why did you bring hats?! You should have just put phone books all over the kitchen if you wanted to scare me silly. Ruff.
The treats weren’t even scratch and sniff. But, there were Milkbones. I love Milkbones. And toys. The front office now looks like a dog-toy crime scene. The party was over in less than 30 minutes. Thanks, party animals.
P.S. Mike is still my favorite, and Nikki ate three cupcakes.
(Ghostwriter: Syntax Architect)