A Day in the Life of Falstaff the Am Staff
What's usually on Falstaff's mind.
4:30 a.m. — The humans may have tricked me onto the dog bed last night, but it’s time I assumed my position under the covers in between them with my head on the man’s pillow. Since I weigh something like 90 pounds, it makes it tight, but I don’t mind. I’ll make sure to blow hot, slobbery air into the woman’s face as she sleeps. I think she likes that.
7:30 a.m. — That dratted noisemaker goes off again and the humans drag themselves out of bed. My other two canine companions follow them downstairs. I burrow deeper under the quilt.
8 a.m. — The woman comes in and pulls my covers off and pinches me. Unwittingly, I am persuaded into playing with her, making sure I try to roll over her on the bed and flatten her. I think she likes that. I must admit it is fun. I go back to sleep.
9 a.m. — If the food isn’t already being poured, I go downstairs to remind everyone what time it is. Geez.
9:30 a.m. — After my brother, Hudson (the crazy little black dog), gets back from his walk, I go for a walk with the man. It is nice except he is always making me hurry and I prefer to do things on “Falstaff time,” which just happens to be slower than anyone else around me. I point out cats and squirrels along the way to the man. I think he likes that.
10 a.m. — I lie on the rug in the living room (humans call this “napping;” I call it “regenerating”).
10:30 a.m. — I go upstairs with my sister, Amber (a tough broad, but a pushover for me), and chew on bones, treats and sometimes balls. My brother (the crazy one) stays downstairs and barks at whatever treat he’s been given. I know he often doesn’t eat it and I always look quickly for it when I go back down, but it seems the woman always gets to it first.
11 a.m. — I lie on the rug in the kitchen.
Noon — The woman is usually home and makes some sort of food concoction for herself. I position myself deftly beneath her and between her feet in order to catch anything that drops.
1 p.m. — I play in the yard with my sister. She likes to bury things which, frankly, baffles me, but to each his own. I don’t see the point in hiding something instead of trying to eat it. Sometimes the humans play with us; they throw balls, which I’m perfectly willing to catch if they come to me. I don’t see the sense in actually running after one, though.
2 p.m. — I lie on the back deck in the sun.
3:30 p.m. — I tend to look out the front window around this time. There are lots of passersby on my street. I love to watch the mailman. I’m very, very quiet, so that he goes about his business unknowingly until he senses my stare. Then he gets in a hurry all of a sudden.
4 p.m. — I lie on the couch.
5 p.m. — Again, I sometimes have to remind them what time this is. I get very little food, I must say, but I can make up for that on my evening walk. I make sure to be encouraging and compliment the chef with ardent burps. I think she likes that.
5:30 p.m. — Back out on the ole’ leash. If dinner was not satisfactory, I do not despair. There is almost always a piece of burrito or part of pastry somewhere in the square.
6 p.m. — I lie on the couch.
8 p.m. — The humans force us canines outside. I think we’re supposed to do our “business,” but all we really do is stand at the back door until they let us in again.
9 p.m. — We all go upstairs and pile onto the bed. Amber manages to get the best spot because she’s a tough cookie, like I told ya. Hudson just seems nervous as usual.
9:30 p.m. — They trick me with treats to get me off the bed. I dream of Snausages and Scooby Snacks and cheese until I can make my maneuver and reclaim my rightful place between the sheets. Sometimes they wake me when I’m dreaming of giant cats. Then we settle down, their arms around me as I breathe soothingly. I think they like that.
