Sweetie’s New Year: No Improvements Needed
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By Sweetie
Herald K-9 Correspondent
I’ve decided to start the new year with a positive attitude and a list of resolutions, because apparently that’s what humans do when the calendar flips over and they feel guilty about everything they ate in December. I figured if my human can write lists about “self-improvement,” I can too. Besides, how hard could it be?
Resolution #1: Stop barking at the UPS truck.
In my defense, I thought it was a different truck. Turns out it’s still the same one that arrives every day, driven by the same human who calls me a “noisy dog.” Some habits die hard.
Resolution #2: Be nice to the people who walk past my house.
This one is totally not my fault. They started it. They always start it. You try turning the other cheek when someone stops mid-conversation on the sidewalk directly in front of your living room window. I tell myself they’re just enjoying the day. I remind myself sidewalks are for everyone. But frankly, this feels like a situation that calls for barking.
Resolution #3: Don’t steal Snack Dad’s snacks.
I’m calling this one a win. It’s not theft. It’s appreciation for his excellent taste. Besides, he should be flattered that I admire his choices in cuisine.
Resolution #4: Exercise more.
We took one brisk walk, which was invigorating until we passed a pile of leaves that absolutely required a ten-minute sniff inspection. Then I remembered the couch and how soft it is and wanted to go back home. I consider that emotional exercise.
Resolution #5: Be patient during bath time.
That lasted until the first splash. It always starts the same way. She says, “This will be quick.” It never is. I emerge smelling like oatmeal and betrayal. There’s no way to spin this one. It was a complete failure.
Resolution #6: Don’t beg at the dinner table.
My human believes that if my head is so heavy on her knee that it cuts off the blood supply to her leg, it’s begging. I insist that it’s simply quality control, and someone has to make sure that chicken is safe for consumption.
Resolution #7: Ignore the vacuum cleaner.
I don’t trust anything that eats dirt and screams while doing it. Supervision remains necessary. I followed it from room to room, keeping a careful eye on the cord, the wheels, and my human’s decision-making. Someone has to make sure it doesn’t get ideas and eat my couch.
Resolution #8: Respect personal space.
Depends on how you define “space.” My human says, “Aren’t you a little big for a lap dog?” I say, “If I can’t see you breathe, how do I know you’re okay?”
Resolution #9: Sleep in my own bed.
I gave it an honest try. But my bed was lonely, and she and Snack Dad don’t need that entire king-sized bed. So I climbed up, sighed dramatically, and she said, “Good night, sweet girl.” That’s not failure. That’s compromise.
Resolution #10: Adjust to life after Christmas.
My human is cleaning, sorting, and muttering “this needs to go back to the attic,” like it’s a magic spell that makes the mess disappear. I’m quietly relocating my toys under the couch until the danger has passed.
After thinking it over, I’ve decided that human resolutions are just goals with guilt attached, and the whole thing is ridiculous. I’m perfectly happy being loyal, more than slightly opinionated, and highly treat-motivated. No improvements needed.
If my human wants to “be a better version” of herself, that’s fine. I’ll be right here, supervising the process from the couch. After my nap.
