Canine takes over her ‘slave’s’ column

Linn Moncus

At long last, the slave is out of sight so I, Aggie, can do some visiting with my fans. As you have discovered, I haven’t been permitted to write for several months, and I surely have appreciated your calls to check on my health. Actually, I have been quite well, thank you, and have really enjoyed romping in the mud even if the slave has yelled every time I have asked to have my paws washed.
You have also noted that she has dragged me around all over the country, stopping only infrequently to allow me to do some walking. She always comes up with excuses, such as the wind is blowing, rain is falling, the mud is too deep, or she can’t find a good place to get off the pavement. She tries to tell me she is teaching me patience, but I am the only one on this corner who even has a modicum of that commodity. She has offered the same lame excuse for keeping me away from the computer, and no one has less patience with it than she. She even told me that I didn’t proofread my last column carefully and sent in some errors. She didn’t appreciate my remark that I am not the editor and don’t really need to proofread carefully because all errors will be corrected before the column goes into print anyway. She just likes to blow a lot of smoke!
During the warm, sunny days, I have spent a lot of time in the backyard just enjoying getting an early sun tan and barking just enough to excite all the dogs in the neighborhood. When it is too quiet out there, I think all of us should talk at top voice just to let people know we are pretending to be watchdogs. Of course, if the other dogs start barking first, they often scare me and cause me to pound on the door so I can run to my hiding corner and avoid all danger. By getting between the bed and the wall, I can’t see any monsters, and they surely can’t see me. That’s also a good place in which to stay when the wind is blowing and causing the house to make strange noises. I believe in protecting myself and letting the slave fend for herself when things become too dangerous.
During the cold nights this winter, I have decided the most comfortable place in the house is on the recliner beside the slave. I have become a little testy a couple of times when that chair has crashed and had to be repaired. It will probably crash again soon because the slave is the one who does the repair work, and she really doesn’t know what she is doing. She turns the chair over, gets down on hands and knees, groans, moans, and flings tools in all directions. That is okay until she tries to stand upright again and has to crawl to the nearest steadying object in order to lift all that weight off of the floor. She tends to yell a lot when I laugh and race around her while she is flailing about. After all, I am used to walking on all fours, but I can walk upright without going into contortions to do so. She is really getting strange these days.
Besides that, she is even rather cruel. She brings soup home for lunch every day and makes me sample it to see whether or not I like it. If I pretend to like it, she will then eat, and I have conned her into eating almost anything. On the other hand, when I try to get her to sample my kibbles, she refuses and tells me they are delicious just because she has read the label on the sack. If she would taste them, she might know why I spit some of them in all directions and ask to go outside before they make me sick. I wish I could manage to put a few of them into her soup, along with the crackers she crumbles.
Here comes the slave; thus, I had better get this printed and delivered before she discovers what I have said. When you see her next, tell her she should let me write more often and should begin taking me for long walks in the country or even the parks.