This morning I marched outside for my first official yard report and found the sprinklers doing surprise hissing again. I ran a full perimeter check with very fast little feet, barked twice at the wet grass situation, and looked back at my humans so they would understand I had solved it. They said, “It”s okay, Max.” Friend, it was only okay because I was there.
After walk research, I came inside to inspect Mr. Squeaky Fox, who has been looking unreliable in the middle section. I carried him from room to room so the household could review the evidence. My humans thought I wanted to play fetch. Incorrect. This was an audit. Oski tried to help by booping the fox with his big brother nose, which turned the meeting into wrestling, then zooming, then me filing a formal complaint about hallway speed limits.
Later I did some very sharp training work. I nailed sit, down, touch, and one extremely elegant wait while staring directly at the snack hand like a true professional. I would like the record to show that I earned at least six treats. My humans” version of the record says three. This is why canine accounting must remain independent.
In the afternoon I heard the garage make one tiny ping and immediately announced it to the whole house. Nobody moved with the urgency I requested. They all said, “What is it, Max?” exactly like I had not already explained it in clear mini Aussie language. I took a strategic couch nap after that because leadership is exhausting, especially when you are this correct all day.
