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Watson the Dog

Hi, I’m Watson the Dog.  I live with my mom, my dad, and my baby.  Well, my adoptive mom and dad, but I’m pretty sure the baby is mine.  I mean not mine, but they brought him home and said he was my boy, so…yeah, he’s mine.  

Mostly I just hang out with mom and the baby, Dad leaves every day and goes who knows where.  I chase my ball, when I can get Mom to throw it, I chew on my rope, I eat my food, and I kiss my baby.  I love to kiss my baby.  Mom says maybe I love him too much, but I’m pretty sure that’s not even a real thing–too much love?  Sounds fake if you ask me.  Sometimes he makes a mess with his food and she doesn’t notice, so I have to clean him up for her–it’s not always kisses, sometimes it’s just cleaning up.  

I’m scared of cats.  Mom says Satan made spiders, but I don’t mind spiders, and I’m pretty sure she made that up anyway because they give her the willies.  They’re pretty nice once you get to know them, but cats…cats.  The little ones…kittens, they call them…those are the worst of all, but any cat is terrifying and dangerous, really.  I chase them out of the yard because I have to protect my family, but I tell you what…SCARY.  Other than that, I’m not afraid of anything.  Except fly swatters and those poppy plastic bubble things that sometimes come in packages.

Sometimes Mom gets mad when I bark.  She says the baby is sleeping and I’m going to wake him.  Yeah??  Well, we’re being invaded and I’m trying to save us all, how’s THAT?  Sigh.  She means well.  I can understand that my bark might hurt her ears, it’s a pretty impressive bark.

Before I got here, before I had my body and everything, I was told that I was special and important because the family I was going to be with would really need my help.  I love to chase my ball and sleep on the couch and watch traffic and track mud in the house (except I hate it when Mom tries to wipe my feet off), but sometimes…well…those thing aren’t important.  I know, I sound crazy.  But sometimes I just need to snuggle Mom, and sometimes even Dad.  Something about them tells me they need some love.  If you think I’m good at chasing balls and sticks and chewing up toys and eating lots of food–well.  That’s nothing compared to how I love.  I’m a professional love-giver.  In fact, before I came here (Earth, that is), I taught other dogs how to love.  Kiss them, I said, and sit as close as you can to them–maybe even on them–and just be still and quiet for a minute.  Then give them your favorite toy, and another kiss.  Then play.  Works every time.  

Being a dog is a lot of work, but it’s really the only job for me.  It’s got its perks, that’s for sure.  The baby is getting bigger, and we’ve worked out a pretty sweet deal so I get plenty of scraps from the table, and sometimes Mom and Dad let me sleep on the bed with them.  And sometimes we get to go to the park and they throw balls and frisbees for me and we even play chase.  I wouldn’t want to be anything else, to be honest.  Who else would protect my family?  Who else would love them and take care of them like I do?  No one, that’s who.

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