“Bob – come!” I like my spot on the rug, warm under a ray of sun, but my Pa is calling. Just this bit of attention is enough to make my tail flick. What could he want from me? What could he have for me? Maybe I’ll get to lick the syrup off his pancake plate! That would be the best.
My tail wags as I approach Pa and his tiny litter. He lifts his fist and says “Sit!” and I put my butt on the kitchen tile. I don’t know why he has me sit like this so often, but it always results in fun treats. Today is no different. The runt of his litter squeals in delight as I lick the plate. My Humans are lovely.
“Bob – mail!” I know this word. This is one of my favorite tricks. I get to showoff how well I stand on my hind legs after a fun dive through the hole in the door. A bluejay flies overhead but I don’t let it distract me.
Pa was kind enough to teach me how to step on the lever that tilts the paper from the mailbox and into my mouth. I keep my lips as dry as I can so I don’t taste the ink. Ink tastes like rotten grass and I don’t like it.
The whole litter laughs as I return through the door, victory in my jowls. My tail wags and wags as the litter surrounds me with hugs and kisses, chanting “good boy”.
Today is a good day.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Dog Named Bob.”