I’m tired. I’ve considered taking a cat nap, but I don’t think that would be enough. What I probably need is a dog nap.
What’s a dog nap, you ask? Well, it’s like a cat nap, except sometimes I dream about chasing the mailman.
At least, I hope it’s only a dream.
Come to think of it, I’ve been exhibiting a disturbing number of canine tendencies lately. For starters, I eat like a chow hound and could stand to lose a pound or two—not wind up in one.
It’s too bad they don’t make Science Diet for humans. Of course, it doesn’t take a scientist to tell me I need to lay off the Pup-Peroni Pizza.
It’s not my fault. Put anything cheesy and gooey in front of me and I’m going to woof it down, whether it’s topped with dog treats or not. Naturally, I expect belly rubs after devouring the whole thing. Frankly, I don’t understand why more restaurants don’t offer this service. Dessert menus are nice, but sometimes after a large meal what you really need is someone to tell you you’re a good boy and rub your stomach until you fall asleep.
Followed, of course, by a dog nap.
What I probably need at this point is some exercise.
I thought about taking up tennis, but something tells me my opponent wouldn’t appreciate being served a ball drenched in slobber.
Maybe I’d benefit from getting a personal trainer. Then again, I’m afraid all they’d train me to do is sit and stay, both of which I’m already really good at. I could even play some workout music on Spot-ify. All the trainer would have to do is hold a treat in front of my nose and yell, “Run, Spot, run!”
I’d be in the best shape of my life.
Just don’t ask me to roll over.
So perhaps I’ll start exercising tomorrow.
Right after my dog nap.
Or sooner, if the mailman shows up.