I don’t know what my family would do without me. Okay, so I DO know. They’d be dead. All of them. In the blink of an eye.
See, we get people trying to kill us all the time. It happens at least once a day, sometimes more. A month ago, someone came to our door. It was dark out. Instinctively, I knew it was a ninja. I leaped into action, running toward the door and barking, “Ninja! Killer ninja! I SEE you, ninja!”
They were so terrified that instead of killing Dad when he opened the door, the ninja handed him a bag filled with Chinese food.
I KNOW, right? I’m so awesome like that.
Last week, a large brown truck pulled up to the curb. A man hopped out, also wearing brown. Why? I don’t know. I think it’s some sort of camouflage. Do you guys not see the color brown well? Sometimes the trucks are white with red and blue letters on the side, but they all mean the same thing: hired hitmen. So, back to what happened. This hitman comes to the door and once again, I spring into action! Screw you, Lassie! Go find that klutz Timmy who’s always falling down the well. Leave the REAL hero stuff to a Beelzepup! “Hit man! Hit man! He’s at the door! Grrrr! Bark!”
Barkbarkbark. BARK! *snort*
Crap! He shouldn’t have seen that!
Barkbarkbarkedy bark bark BARK! *grrrumble*
And upon seeing my formidable, svelte self, the hitman obviously realizes he’s outclassed. He parts, but not before leaving a box of presents at the door. This time, it was a whole case of holistic dog food and some treats! Score!
What, me scared? Nooo. Never. Okay. Once. A while back three little aliens came to the door with a human hostage meant to look like one of their mothers. Which is stupid, because the little aliens were all wearing green. I know, right? What an awful disguise. I barked and barked! What a ruckus I raised. Dad answered the door and when the little aliens saw a Beelzepup on duty they backed right the arf down. Yeah, buddy! In fact, they gave him boxes of his favorite cookie, Thin Mints, which he put in the freezer, probably to decontaminate the cookies from parasites. Good thing I was there or those little aliens would have snatched up the whole family and whisked them away to some unknown and horrible planet where Mom and Dad would have been the main ingredient in a casserole. Don’t laugh. This stuff is true! I saw it once on the Twilight Zone. This guy was shoved into a spacecraft, all the while yelling, “It’s a cookbook! It’s a cookbook!”
That guy should have had a Beelzepup. Just sayin.’
It’s a dangerous world out there. There are other, smaller trucks that come around, too. US Mail or something. But they can’t fool me. I bet they’re mad bombers or psychos ready to chop us all to Kibble and Bits, which is about the nastiest thing I can think of.
And squirrels. Oh, clever little things! I often wonder if they’re hiding something… like chain saws.
Mom thinks I’m exaggerating. Yeah, fine one to talk! She makes stuff up for a living. Me? Never. But there are these people that even Mom knows are spawns of Satan. She calls them the solicitors.
Mom doesn’t always say much when I’ve saved the family from impending peril and doom. Sometimes she just looks at me. That’s okay.
No thanks are needed, Mom.