Dog Of Habit Embraces Weekend Of Mayhem
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By Sweetie
K9 Correspondent
Let me start by saying this: I’m a dog of habit.
I like my breakfast at the same time every morning. I like to patrol the same route. I like my belly rubs and naps evenly spaced throughout the day. And I especially like my early morning walk to City Park, where I can sniff every corner and keep a watchful eye on squirrels.
Now, do I enjoy the heat? Absolutely not. I’ve already made it perfectly clear I’m one porch-sit away from a full Victorian swoon. My fur coat is more suited for a ski lodge than a Mississippi summer. But I love my routine more than I hate sweating through my paws.
But this week? Chaos. Complete and utter chaos.
The Watermelon Carnival is here. And while most of you are clapping your hands and painting your toenails for the street dance, I’m just trying to figure out how I’m supposed to get to my park without having to dodge people in watermelon hats.
You see, I live on one end of town. The Carnival takes over the other. And in between? Pure mayhem. People everywhere. Cars parked in places that haven’t been legal—or sensible—since 1973. And as for my beloved City Park? It’s been sliced and diced into orange-painted booth-sized boxes like some kind of craft fair battlefield. I did not approve this.
So, my park is temporarily off-limits. My sniffing zones? Infiltrated. It would be easy to complain (and believe me, I have). But here’s the thing: even I, Sweetie the Opinionated, understand what this weekend means.
It means pride. It means tradition. It means families coming home, kids making memories, and our town shining a little brighter—even if that shine includes glitter, watermelon earrings, and questionable food choices.
So yes, my routine is a mess. My park is overrun. And I may not get back to normal until every last tent has been packed up, and every last watermelon rind is hauled away.
But I’ll allow it. For Water Valley.
Because if there’s one thing I love more than a quiet walk and a perfectly predictable day, it’s this town—even when it’s loud, sticky, and completely covered in watermelons.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sulk under the dining room table—directly in front of the AC vent—until my human brings me a funnel cake.
Yours in slightly begrudging civic pride, Sweetie.
