This is a story written by a dog. His name is Charles, and with the help of Olivia P., we translated this story into English. Enjoy!
Hello there. Person. I’m Charles. This is my story about what being a dog feels like.
So like I said, my name is probably Charles, but I am not sure. I may also be called: Monkeydog, The Great Newshetty, Lovedog, Pusheen, Charles Dickens, Prince, Charlie, Princey Boy, Charlie Boy, Booga, Grinch and Charles Benedict Junior. These are just a few things that my family calls me.
See those pictures up there? Where it says the words: “A Dog’s Point of View”? Those are pictures of me.
No one understands what it’s like to eat the same food over and over again, day after day. Try only eating dirt for your whole life. OK, OK that may be a bit overdramatic, but really. Eating the same food over and over again every. single. day is tiresome. Sometimes I get to eat some fruit, and I try to eat as many people food scraps off the floor as possible. It just doesn’t cut it.
I have lots of pets. I am so tough that I own a lion. And a monkey that is dressed up as Santa, a deformed lamb, a raccoon who’s tail takes up most of his body mass, a purple dinosaur, a pig with one ear, a monkey whose tail is shaped like a bone, two bears and lots of others. Lots of them make squeaky sounds.
My favourite part of the day is getting my walk. I run and I run and I run and I run. And I am so tired after.
I love getting my treats after I “hurry up!” (whatever that means) outside.
My pack has Mom, Dad, Eva, Libby and Lilah.
Life is good except for the fact that they always put me in these really dreadful, awful, costumes and guess what they say while I am wearing them…
“I just wanna eat you up”.
My best friends are Zoe and Wolfgang from the houses next door. I have never seen them in person, although I have heard talk that Wolfie is so large that he would eat me alive.
Sometimes, once I have started a good conversation with them, one of my pack members brings me inside.
I love to tear things up. My favourite part of tearing stuff up is the joy of eating stuffing. That’s one thing I don’t like about my lion; he’s stuffing free. I hate when Mom sews my stuff back together so I can’t eat the stuffing anymore. How rude.
There is always a black figure hovering below me, wherever I go. He copies everything I do. Totally a copycat… copydog. I bark at it to tell it to stop doing everything I do, but all that gets me is someone telling me to “Stop barking at your shadow!” I think that they think I am barking at it because I am scared of it, but I am barking at to tell it to “get your own ideas and stop copying me! Woof.”
Everyday Libby, Lilah and Eva leave the house. They get up early, eat breakfast in a rush and run, run, run away while Mom and Dad holler that they are going to be late for “school”, whatever that is. Soon, Dad leaves. And then Mom leaves, too. I sit at home, in the mudroom where I am locked up during the day, playing with my pets and waiting for my pack to come home. That means I will get my walk!
Then Eva and Libby and Lilah get home. They have snacks in the kitchen and then go to their rooms, upstairs. Soon Mom gets home, and then Dad.
Let’s talk about birds. They are always trying to poop on my head while I am in the yard, but I dodge their poop so that it does not land on my head. I bark and chase the magpies and crows to protect my pack from them, so don’t blame me for going psycho when I see them. I am just trying to protect my family!
And when I get messy in the yard, Libby and Eva use this thing that I call the evil brush. It straightens my fur and I want to bite it. Oh, wait. I do bite it and they get mad. They still give me a treat but that still doesn’t make up for my pure hatred against the evil brush.
I met my pack in September. I met Mom first. Once I was done meeting my new family, Libby, Eva, Lilah and I played in the backyard of my breeder’s house. After that, it was kind of a blur of happiness. But somehow, I ended up at home. And I love it where my family lives. Here is a picture of my house;
Anyways, I’d love to stay and chat, but I see a bird in the yard.
See you around.
(or Monkeydog or The Great Newshetty or Lovedog or Pusheen or Charles Dickens or Prince or Charlie or Princey Boy or Charlie Boy or Booga or Grinch or Charles Benedict Junior, or whatever you want to call me. I am still not really sure about my name.)