I'm already wide awake by the time they start to stir. "Monday," one of them grumbles. The other one yawns. Why are they so slow? Finally the man gets up. I follow him into the kitchen. He gives me breakfast. More, I think. Pour more! But the man leaves the room. I scarf breakfast down, almost choke, slurp water from the other bowl, go searching for the man again. He's back in the bedroom, talking to the lady. Quiet words I can't understand.
Hey, I think. Hey, mister.
He pats my head. We go to the back door and he lets me into the backyard. Oh, the smells! The sweet air.
I do what I need to do. The man takes out a little bag – that makes me want to laugh every time, him with his nose scrunched up. We go back in the house. The lady is standing in the middle of the kitchen, making a sandwich. I sit next to her and think, Give me the sandwich. I use every bit of my thinking power to think this, but she doesn't give it to me. I follow her into the bedroom, then back into the kitchen, then to the front door. She hands the sandwich to the man, and the man gives her a kiss, and then he's gone, just like that.
Everything in the middle of the day is boring. I climb back onto the bed. The lady sits at her big desk and stares at her computer and talks to herself every now and then. Eventually I fall asleep, and have one of these awesome dreams where I'm running, I'm running, I'm running, and I'm in a backyard that's three hundred miles long and smells like sweet, fresh air, and at the end of it is a sandwich, my sandwich! You wouldn't believe how fast I can eat a sandwich. You really wouldn't believe it.
The man gets home when it's dark outside. When he walks through the front door, I run around the house like mad, almost as fast as I ran in my dream, but not quite. He's home, I think. I didn't know if he was coming back!
He gives me dinner. I'm happy. Really, really happy. I wouldn't mind if he gave me a little more, but still. I'm happy. In the living room, the man and the lady are staring at the TV and eating colorful dinners. I try to lick the edges of their plates and they say "No!" and "You already had dinner," but what they don't realize is that I could eat a hundred dinners if they let me.
"Sit," says the man. When I do, he gives me something small off his plate. I don't know what it is but it's the most delicious thing ever.
"Not too much," says the lady. "He'll get sick."
I won't, I promise I won't, I think. Give me lots more. I won't get sick. I'll just be the happiest dog in the world, and in the whole entire universe.