This morning I heard the leash jingle from three rooms away and reported for duty at full fluff speed. My humans said, “Wow, somebody is excited,” which was only partly correct. I was not excited. I was available for mission launch. There is a difference, and I keep explaining it.
On the walk I checked the usual hedge mail, one very opinionated squirrel tree, and a driveway where a cardboard box had appeared overnight without filing the proper paperwork. I gave it a long detective sniff and one side-eye for the record. My humans said, “Come on, Max,” before I could finish my neighborhood briefing.
Back home, Mr. Pickle the toy somehow got wedged under the couch cave. I dropped one paw, then two paws, then my entire little supervisor neck down into the darkness until I got him out. Oski arrived after the rescue and acted like he had been part of the operation the whole time. That is not how history works.
Later I put on an excellent training clinic: sit, touch, spin, and a very heroic leave-it while a snack sat right there being extremely available. I completed every task with gorgeous professionalism. Payment arrived, but at a rate I would describe as emotionally incomplete, so I reopened negotiations by standing near the treat drawer and making my eyes extra circular.
Tonight there was a sharp little pop in the hallway, and I told everyone immediately. I checked the floor, the baseboards, and Oski just in case he had done something mysterious. My humans said, “It was probably the house settling.” Correct. The house was settling badly, and I was clearly trying to tell them that all day. After that I took a strategic nap with one ear on security and one paw on Mr. Pickle. Strong work from me again.
