Vegas, the Spazadoodle, in her glory years

Hello, people who do not know me and therefore do not worship me or give me cheese. Bonjour.

I am Vegas.

What is it like for me, The-Prettiest-Goldendoodle-in-the-World, during this time?

It has been very trying, let me tell you. I am no longer as young as I used to be, but I am still expected to do my job. I have to chase away paper deliverers, girl guide cookie sellers, UPS guys in their poo-colored jackets, and unwanted salesmen wanting to chew up our lawn or sell us alarm systems (to which I bark, Tabernac! I AM the alarm system!)

Then there’s the whole cat invasion. It used to be just the one evil, orange cat with his glowing-red eyes and razor-sharp fangs. He thought he could poop in the yard and eat birds out of the trees and wander along our fence like he owned the place.

Mais non!

I showed him. Many times. If he enters my yard, I bark at him very loudly and charge towards him as if I am going to eat him like a dropped meatball. Now, I will tell you, he sticks to walking along the fence, only.

But yesterday, another cat appeared and appeared not on the fence or in the bushes, but right on the deck from where I like to view the world like Napoleon. Now, if you asked the old, fat guy who tells me what to do, he’d say I was asleep at the time, but non mes amis, non, my eyes were closed, yes that was true, and he perhaps heard the snoring from my nose, but I was laying a trap for that cat. Oh, yes, a trap.

And this new cat, with its white tail and silly ideas, when it touched its nose to the glass sliding door, I leaped into action and barked at him so loudly that half of his fur fell off as he jumped so high into the air, I think the very sun burned him.

So, you see, even though I am old, and my joints hurt and my eyes, they can no longer see like they did, I can still be a good guard dog.

That is my role.

Being a comfort dog, well, that is another thing entirely. People, they exist to give me comfort, to rub my ears and belly when I need those things rubbed, to give me love when I want love.  To give me treats. And drop stuff on the floor so I can eat it. That is their role.

It is my role to make sure I know where everyone is at any moment. This role is, you see, very hard since the music-boy and the stinky-boy are not always here, and I have to look around all over the place to see if they are here or not.

So, at no time do I have to make sure everyone in the house is happy. Happiness is the job of chocolate.

But for the last few weeks, I have had to put my head on the lap of the music-boy when he looked anxious. I have had to sit still while the stinky-boy peeps in my ear and pats me on the head like he is beating down a lump of clay. I have had to wait for supper sometimes while the fat, old one snoozes on the couch.

I have even had to stick my nose into the face of the nice-smelling one so that she gets up and gets ready for work. She used to go out of the house for work, but now she has to stay in, but if I am not nudging her at 6am, then I fear she will sleep until 8 and be late.

They didn’t even buy me the right-sized bed – Vegas

Therefore, I ask you, for all that I do, is it not reasonable that I be carried up and down the stairs since my joints hurt? Is it not reasonable that I be given a little human food? Is it not reasonable, indeed (a basic canine right) that I not be stepped on while I sleep in my bed?

Not at all, unreasonable, right?

So, perhaps now you understand, why it is so hard these days.

As a princess, I need so little, yet give so much. Therefore, if the conditions do not improve, I promise you, a very stern letter will be delivered to management. Or I’ll poo in their bed.

Now, where is the fat, old guy? I need a chewy.

In the meantime, be safe, be healthy, and respect this new world.