Hello, it is I once again, Daniel J. Daniels, or to my many fans, Danny the Dog. I have sad tidings to convey this morn. Perhaps some of you who are old enough will remember The Battle of the Turkey Slices in which I defeated The Powers of Darkness—in the guise of Andrew, my human—and emerged victorious. At the time, I thought it my greatest moment. Perhaps I was too soon in declaring mission accomplished. It seems that I won the battle, but the war still rages on.
First, a brief recap and then my strategy for total victory so that this senseless war may at last come to an end.
Andrew started out giving me one turkey slice every morning after our walk. I soon got him up to two slices, then three. That’s when he started to cut them in half. I didn’t mind because I had a plan to extract an infinite number of slices from him. However, I got him up to six and then things stalled. I couldn’t, for the life of me, get him to that elusive, succulent, wonderful seventh slice. But in the end, I did prevail. And in defeat, Andrew was a shell of the man he had once been. However, that lasted only a day. Somehow, by the next morning, he had grown a backbone and all my efforts to get that seventh slice came to naught. No one can be more a pain-in-the-butt than me when I want something. Yet, still we subsist at a six half-slice level of existence.
I needed a new battle plan. I was determined to win the war once and for all so that I could go back to my more mundane life and pursue my hobbies and enjoyments—such as barking at other dogs that dare walk down my street and chasing iguanas. So I came up with a multi-pronged attack strategy to get me some extra slices. I’m going to make such a nuisance of myself that Andrew will be begging me to have more slices. I cannot resign myself to living the horror of a six-slice life.
To be honest, the six strategies listed below are my everyday activities. But I told Andrew that I’d scale back on some of them if he’d cough up with a few more slices. He responded that he did not give in to blackmail. We shall see.
- When accepting a turkey slice, I will not move toward the proffered delicacy. I’ll stretch my neck out a little toward it, but that is all. Andrew must reach out to me if he wants me to have it. This works only one time each morning, then Andrew says, “Okay. You don’t want it? Then that’s it for the day.” Needless to say, I mosey over and get the rest of my slices. Every morning, I again try the standing-firm-and-stretching-my-neck ploy. All to no avail. But it is my hope to wear him down eventually.
- I like to dine al fresco—out on the dock—in the evening time. But when Andrew puts my bowl down, I just stand there and stare at him. I don’t run over to it, and I certainly do not deign to eat anything until he has gone back into the boat. I don’t want him to think that I depend on him for anything. I can eat or not eat. It’s all the same to me. But just between us, the minute he’s out of sight, I chow down with gusto.
- As you know, we live on a boat. Hence, space is at a premium. I like to lie on the galley (kitchen for you landlubbers) floor during the day. And seeing as how I take up much of the space, Andrew is forced to tip-toe around what limited space is left, being careful not to step on me. It’s kind of funny watching him trying to make a sandwich while he’s all contorted out of shape in an effort to not disturb me. If I had more slices in the morning, perhaps I’d sleep somewhere else during the day. Just sayin’.
- This is a good one. Whenever we are boarding our boat, I stop halfway down the gangplank with Andrew right behind me. A few weeks ago, there was a duck lounging in the water right under the gangway. And of course, I had to bark at him. So while I take my time to make sure the creature has not returned, Andrew taps his foot with great impatience.
- Finding chicken bones around the marina and/or street and crunching them before Andrew can get them away from me. And pawing at the sheets on his bed. Both of these things drive him crazy.
- I’ve saved the best for last. Every morning at exactly 5:30 a.m. (or within five minutes either way), I start in on waking Andrew up. I begin with a soft “woof” just to get the ball rolling. I know that won’t wake him out of his alcohol-induced coma, but you never know. Then I progress to the gentle bark. If that doesn’t work, I move to a more insistent and louder bark. Finally, Andrew admits defeat and gets up so that I can take him for his walk. Now that is all well and good, but methinks the old guy gets his revenge every evening. That’s when it’s my turn to be roused from my sweet dreams and my sweet slumber. He gets me up—against my will—because he thinks it’s time I went out. Besides, that’s about the time the guys and gals start to assemble at the Tiki Hut. They meet up there every night and do a cook-out, and I’m always the star of the show. Andrew brings me along because he thinks that, without me, he would not be welcomed. He’s probably right.
So that’s about it. If the above gambits don’t work, I’ll have to come up with something else. I must have that seventh slice—and beyond!
I’m open to ideas from you, my gentle readers, but I will not beg for that seventh slice. Demand, yes. Beg? NEVER!