I bark with purpose.

July, Clouds and Squirrels

Well.
She’s gone again. And I’m here. Alone. Again.

The skies are gray, like my mood. I’m stationed at my window with Bear.The window with the best view of the park — where all the joggers, dog-walkers, and potential threats to our homeland pass by. I bark at each and every one of them. Some look startled. Good. They should be.

No one comes in or out without my approval. The squirrels know that. The chipmunks? Getting bold. I’ve got one in particular — tiny, fast, twitchy — he thinks the yard is his. I told him otherwise this morning with a solid round of barking and a snort at the end for emphasis.

But guarding isn’t as fun without Brutus. Yes I love Bear, but he's not very expressive. I miss Brutus' heavy sighs, his side-eye when I got too worked up, and his low rumble of a bark that said, “Relax, kid — I got this part of the fence.” And Becky… oh, sweet Becky. Warm lap, steady hand, snack whisperer. She’s like a grandma who gets you even when your mom doesn’t. I miss her voice. I miss her lap.

It rained earlier. A steady drizzle, like the clouds were sighing. I didn’t even complain about not going out. Let's be real, I do not go outside in the rain. Not even to do my "business." Yesterday, I just watched the drops slide down the window and thought about California. My beach. Real sand. Real sun. Real sea lions to shout at.

I took a nap on the couch with Bear. I needed the space to stretch and think deep thoughts about betrayal, loyalty, and snack policies.

But don’t worry. I’m okay. I’m a professional. And this house? Still mine. This window? Still guarded.
Let the squirrels come. Let the Amazon delivery guy try it.
Peanut is home.
And I bark with purpose.