And they call this puppy love

‘Intruder’ still hanging around

Iam grateful once again for the opportunity to address the readership directly rather than being relegated to ancillary fodder in Owner Dear’s musings. I sense great responsibility in executing this summer ritual, as it is my only prospect to impart upon you the thoughts of a refined canine forced to live among the common people.

In our past times together, I have shared morsels about myself, namely in regard to my status as loyal companion and law partner of Owner Dear and, more notably, my love of cured meats. Since we last met in these pages, however, my world has changed exponentially. Today, I shall broach a subject most difficult for me. Even as I dictate this column to my assistant, Floyd — a dim-witted and morally defunct feline — I find it challenging to form the words to properly express the magnitude of my situation.

An intruder is living in our midst.

Owner Dear joined forces with Intruder on the first day of April — a more fitting day for nuptials, I have not seen. I was fetching, naturally, as I donned a black vest with a white bow tie and “Dog of Honor” embroidery for the occasion. My attempt at wearing mourning attire was met with disrepute.

Since that dark day of invasion, I have remained ever vigilant to maintain a position of superiority over Intruder. I shoehorn myself between them whilst they recline on the sofa. I defend my coveted territory in the bend of Owner Dear’s knee as she retires for the evening. I make every effort to resist engaging in spirited banter with Intruder — yet Intruder is a sly one, and I fall prey to his tactics when bacon is involved.

There has been talk amid the Furless Beings that my auditory faculties are not what they once were. It fails them to realize I simply disregard their inane ramblings, for I attest that to stranger conversations has no contemporary of mine been privy. Granted, Owner Dear’s idiosyncrasies are numerous, but I rather enjoy them, having a baker’s dozen of years to acquaint myself therewith. Intruder will not gain a foothold on me in this regard. He continues to show surprise at guitar-shaped fly swatters, socks in her hair, incessant bedtime chatter, and copious spoon usage (every spoon, every day, as though a prize awaits her in the bottom of the drawer).

Intruder has stayed beyond the anticipated probation period, and I surmise that this must be marriage — being crated together, going for long walks, having a training regime, and sharing meals in captivity. It sounds familiar, as though I read of it once in a book.

The time has come where I must bid you adieu. Until we meet again, please be good to one another and refrain from biting those within your pack. I will endeavor likewise. And if you see Intruder, do remind him of his place in the cosmos. After all, I loved her first.

Lisa Kelley-Gibbs is a Southern storyteller, lawyer and country gal living a simple urban life in downtown Bentonville. Email her at Lisa@ ArkansasAtty.com.