I awoke to the sound of plates clattering in the kitchen. Still groggy from my sleeps, I attempt to orient myself so I can make it to the food source. As a dog, you quickly learn the sound of food being prepared, and that is never an occasion to miss out on. This is no exception.
I hop down to the carpet and squeeze through the doorway. The old man had tried to close the door behind him, but it never seems to seal all the way. I learned long ago that with my nose I can wedge it open far enough for me to get though.
Then, down the hall and to the kitchen I race. My senses are alert once again, and the old man shuffling in the kitchen can mean only one thing- meal time. I stare up at him, his concentration focused on the wonderful smells upon the counter. He tosses and stirs things on the stove, and never seems to pay me any mind. I crawl between his legs and lay down, knowing this always gets his attention. Which it does, but itâ€™s not the way I liked. He tells me to evacuate the premises, and returns his attention to his work. Itâ€™s all good, though. Iâ€™ll eventually get a sample of that tasty meal heâ€™s cooking up. I always do. No one can resist the eyes of Rocky!
So I lie on the couch and wait. Every changing sound, the clatter of another plate, and even the old manâ€™s grunts of effort alert me as I listen carefully for the meal to be ready. Time seems to draw on, and my mouth yearns for the tasty meal that awaits my belly.
Thatâ€™s when the doorbell rings to announce the arrival of another. My job takes precedence, and I race to the door to ask who it is. I sniff, but detect no change, so I go to get the old man. Heâ€™ll know what to do. The kitchen is still full of smells that make my belly growl, but I deliver the message as my job entitles. After a few moments, the old man decides that he too should inspect the front door. I race him down the hall, and wait, not so patiently, for the old man to do his part. He does.
Debbie, the neighbor enters and offers me a pat on the head. I turn belly and ask for a rub. She gives me a pat and starts chatting with the old man. Iâ€™m jealous. They make their way back to the kitchen where the old man gives her a sample of his tasty meal. They continue to ignore me as they laugh and sample the delicious treats, and the old man even gives a flower to Debbie, which she smells and savors. Jealousy overcomes me as I grunt displeasure and return to my seat on the couch.
Soon after, the meal is done, and the two of them sit at the table to laugh and enjoy their conversation above a tasty meal. Only two chairs are present, and when I try to get up into the old manâ€™s lap, he tells me â€œnoâ€ and pushes me away. Iâ€™m saddened, and decide that I today is not my day. I slump on the floor and wait for things to change. Perhaps something will fall to the floor, allowing me a sample of this tasty fortune. A few nibbles drop, but nothing to satisfy my craving. So I continue to wait. But they finish before anything substantial can satisfy my palate.
The event quickly transfers to the living room, where the old man and Debbie enjoy a seat on the couch. Something odd here since they never sit this close. In fact, Debbie is sitting in my seat. The two laugh and chatter for a bit longer before I lose my patience. The old man is mine. My best friend. My everything.
I jump up between them and dig myself into the couch. They laugh and grab at me. But the grabs turn to rubs and massages as the two of them give me the love I so much enjoy.Â “Jealousy,” I hear Debbie accuse me of. Sheâ€™s right. I would never put anyone before the old man, and that is what makes him so special to me. My heart belongs to him, and I hope that he feels the same about me.
Jason Duron is a short story writer and author of several fiction stories.Â Curious and lovable as dogs can be, the Adventures of Rocky give you a chance to see daily life from a â€œdogâ€™s eye viewâ€ and share in their thoughts.Â Please enjoy, and we hope that youâ€™ll feel free to comment and give us insight into your dogâ€™s very own Rocky Adventures.