Fuego, Dog of the Spots

The sun shines stronger every minute. I can feel the heat even through the window pane. It will be a hot, hot day. Birds are chirping in the trees outside. A few tasty-looking squirrels are sitting in the tree. It is a good day to be a Dog of the Spots.

A good day, indeed. I like any day my owner takes that other dog off to "camp." I can sit on the couch without him trying to curl up next to me. Big, lumbering fool. He can go slobber on some other dogs for a while.

As a Dog of the Spots, I have no patience for lesser dogs. How can I be expected to appreciate my drooling brother when rich and heroic legacy shines from every spot on my body? The humans call me Fuego. I am told it means "fire" in one of the human languages. I like it; fire is powerful.

Ah, but it is such a beautiful day, and those squirrels look like they're getting too comfortable out there. I think a morning perambulation is in order.

But the door is shut. Why is the door always shut? The humans and their fear of the outdoors... Alas! My kingdom for a pair of thumbs.

My owner has gone to work, but that young human who has come to live with her is still here. While I am not entirely sure I like the idea of another human coming out of nowhere and jumping over me in the chain of command, she scratches my ears often and she is very good at putting my royal blanket on me. I suppose she isn't all bad.

But I would bet my spots that, even at this late hour, she is still abed. The folly of it all! If she didn't stay up all hours of the night doing who-knows-what on her strange human contraptions, she would be able to rise with the sun like the rest of us and actually enjoy the day.

Well, this has gone far enough. I'm putting an end to it.

Her bedroom door is shut and I can't push it open. I know she's in there; I can hear her slow, deep breathing. She's asleep. How did I guess?

"Grrowwrrrr."

Young human! I require the use of your thumbs.

The sounds of deep breathing have ceased; she is no longer asleep, but why has she not yet answered me?

"Grrrroooooooorrwrrwrwr."

Really, now, it's ten o' clock. Time for you to get out of that bed and tend to my needs.

She speaks, but does not come to the door. Silly human. She often forgets that I do not comprehend her strange tongue. I'm sure it was a protest of some kind, but that response is unacceptable.

"Grrrroooowwwwrrrrrrr."

Young human! Look at yourself. Have you no shame that you sleep half the day away whenever you don't have to work? Do you not regret each lost moment that you snore away? Rise!

Clearly you struggle to grasp the importance of the morning- a malady that many humans share. This is quite tragic, my young friend. Quite tragic indeed. But fear not! I will help you to overcome your laziness and to return to the happy life of the healthy circadian rhythm.

My ancestors stood by your ancestors as they raced into danger. The Dogs of the Spots never abandoned your people in their time of need! We chased the highwaymen from your carriages, we calmed your horses, and we cut a path through busy streets for the fire wagons to come through. The Dogs of the Spots valiantly aided their human friends, and so will I aid you in your struggle with the morning. I will not let you fail! I will stand here and growl under your door until--

Oh, hello! Good morning, young human. Yes, yes, you may glare at me if you wish, with your bleary eyes blinking and your hair sticking up all funny like that, but you simply must join the world of the living now. Come enjoy the morning air-- and while you're at it, open the door for me. I want to go out.

Come along, now! Do you not see me tapping my paws? Let us go! I grow impatient!

There you go. That's a good human. See? Was that so hard? Now if you open the door for me in a timely manner when I am ready to return to the indoors, I will sit next to you on the couch and allow you the honor of petting me until I don't feel like being petted anymore.