Well, it's coming up on three years since I moved in with my current humans. (The less said about the previous four-plus years the better.) All in all, it's been a pretty good three years.
For three years, they've fed me pretty well. None of that cut-rate supermarket stuff, although a few scraps from the dinner table now and then wouldn't go amiss.
They let me play keep-away with them. (They like to call it fetch, but what's in a name?) They take me for rides in the truck from time to time and let me enjoy and explore new places when we take out the big rolling doghouse. (I think they call it a fifth-wheel, but I only see four. Maybe humans can't count so good.) They also don't get too upset when I throw up on the carpet, although the female human doesn't seem to find it very amusing.
However, I do have one beef with them. (Beef. Now there's something else I could go for in my diet. Hint, hint.) They no longer let me run free in the back yard. What's up with that?
Okay, so I did get out through a hole in the fence a few times, but I didn't go that far. Even so, now when they let me out, they put me on a long leash. I now have even less chance of catching squirrels or cats when I chase after them. I'm becoming the laughing stock of the animal kingdom.
They also started putting plastic with little knobby things on some of the furniture when they aren't using it. You'd think they didn't want me on it or something.
Still, life after three years with these humans is pretty good. I get plenty of food, plenty of rest (a dog needs his beauty sleep, after all), and plenty of lap time. Life around here isn't perfect, but a beagle could do worse.
Bark. Bark. Woof.
