I am recently back from battle. The Ducks and I fought a long and torrid battle. There were many dark days, some of which I was not able to eat my breakfast until almost noon. The humanity!
Fur and feathers were lost on both sides, but in the end, I was triumphant in my bark-tory. See what I did there? You humans would call my win a victory, but nae, it is a bark-tory. Not one webbed foot has set down upon my pool deck. Not one quack has echoed through the hallowed corners of my domain. Not one feathered duck rump has floated upon the pristine blue waves of my pool.
Ave! I am the victor! Ave!
There was much celebrating for weeks on end. It is a wonder my human minions did not notice celebrations as I stood watch upon my lawn. I did not escape the scourge unscathed. I burned my paw upon the hot patio and found myself in the infirmary for a day. My female human coddled me and let me lay upon my flowered couch bed while she scratched my head and put aloe upon my paw. She is a good minion. We did lose some ground with the Ducks that day, but, in the end, were able to recover.
With this humdrum fighting between myself and the feathered foe now at an end, I find myself content.
I am content to sleep my days away. I sleep upon the floor. I sleep on the couch. I take what is rightfully mine. I poke around my castle and check the corners for treats. If I'm lucky, my female master will have left the bathroom door opened and the garbage ripe for my vile pillaging (another story for another day my friends). I demand attention from my humans and find satisfaction in their homage. My favorite areas of attention are scratches behind my ears and rubs upon my belly. I find myself so relaxed now that my fighting days are behind me that sometimes a rush of wind does escape from my behind with such force and odor that it sends the large male minion, the one the tiny humans call "Papa," scrambling out of his office and hollering all kinds of names at me.
I shall have his head for this...or perhaps I will just lick him to death. Yes...yes...the plotting begins. I'll bet he tastes like a potato chip.
Happy Birthday to this male minion. The one they call "Papa."