(Bill decided to take a break from his writing duties. The family’s Yorkshire Terrier, Sam, volunteered to serve as today’s guest columnist. Views expressed by the canine in no way reflect his master’s opinions.)

Before we begin, let me apologize for the whole “master” complex of my “owner.” Puh-lease! We all know who is really in control. However, I’ve learned from watching his wife that it doesn’t hurt to let the man THINK that he’s in charge.

In his defense, he’s a lovable sort—slow but trainable. After weeks of effort, he finally learned to give me a dog biscuit whenever I sat, shook, or rolled over.

It took longer on the house training. I committed a number of indiscretions on the carpet before he finally figured out the routine. Now he takes me outside on a regular schedule. One glance at the front door, and he comes running.

We use a leash on our walks. I’ve found this is the best way to keep my human from wandering away. A short tug of the lead gets his attention; but the leash still wraps around his legs if he doesn’t turn quickly enough.

Why are people in such a hurry? A walk involves so much more than locomotion and elimination. God’s creation calls us to play. The scent of each bush, tree, and hydrant reveals cosmic mysteries. Sigh—so many smells to smell and so little time to smell them.

Speaking of smells, so what if I enjoy an occasional roll in something stinky—who doesn’t? The best opportunities always seem to occur right after a bath. For some unfathomable reason, this practice upsets my humans. I imagine they would be less stressed if they followed my example.

I haven’t made any doggie friends in our subdivision. However, there are two ferocious mountain lions that live next door. My people insist on calling them cats, but I know otherwise. The irksome felines dare to slink across my yard on their nefarious escapades. I chase them whenever the opportunity arises, but my leash always pulls me up short.

Felines need to be reminded of their place in the animal kingdom. Dogs rule, cats drool!

Don’t get me started on squirrels. They act so high and mighty with their bushy tails and twitching noses. Lucky for them I keep my people on a leash while I’m outside. Otherwise, I would be on them like white on a Maltese.

I love to go for rides. I sit in my man’s lap and drive. It’s tough to watch the road with my nose out the window, but I manage.

However, not all of our road trips end well. Sometimes they take me to the bad place where they shampoo my hair and trim my nails. I will spare sensitive readers a description of what they do to the back of my front. Let’s just say that it involves squeezing certain unmentionable glands. ‘Nuf said.

For some reason, my family prepares and serves meals at a level above my reach. I am reduced to sitting at their feet, whining pitifully. You’ve just got to know how to work your audience. They all blame one another for feeding me scraps, but then each one slips me something special.

I am The Master of All I Survey. Sometimes strange people or animals dare to walk on the street in front of my house. Per dog decorum, I exercise my right and duty to announce my presence loudly. My family pretends to fuss about the barking, but I know that they treasure this endearing quality.

I may only weigh 10 pounds, but it’s not the size of the dog in the fight—it’s the size of the fight in the dog!

I’m waiting at the door when my people arrive at the end of the day. They always act so excited to see me. I indulge them with some dancing and prancing of my own. Humans love that sort of stuff.

At bedtime, I decide which human to grace with my presence in bed. They started me off in a crate followed by a dog bed. Puh-lease—get a grip and buy a clue. They can sleep in a crate while I snuggle under the covers.

It’s a dog’s life, and I’m not complaining. The Great Master in the Sky has blessed my family richly. Between you and me, I believe the Hound of Heaven has a soft spot for canines.

Think about it—“dog” is “God” spelled backwards. Coincidence? I don’t think so!

(Bill decided to take a break from his writing duties. The family’s Yorkshire Terrier, Sam, volunteered to serve as today’s guest columnist. Views expressed by the canine in no way reflect the blogger’s opinions.)

What Bill DIDN’T note in his introduction is that I am a RETURNING guest columnist. My first blog appeared back in February. He also conveniently forgot to mention that my post received the most visits ever on his website.

Jealousy is so unbecoming in a human.

I also don’t get the whole “views expressed by the canine” disclaimer. I see the world from eight inches off the floor—of course our views on things differ. DUH!

We’ve been together for almost eight years now. I adopted the family while still a pup. I surprised them on a Christmas morning when Santa brought me down the chimney. Forget electronics, clothes, or jewelry—the best presents love you back.

I don’t demand much in return—kibble, treats, walks, and tummy rubs keep me happy. Humans could learn something about contentment from their canine companions.

My humans insist on treating me to a spa treatment every six weeks. The cosmetician gives me a wash and cut before spritzing me with cologne. Then she ties a bandana around my neck.

I hate bandanas.

I also despise having my nails done. Despite my vocal protests, the woman insists on clipping my paws. One time she tried to buff my nails with a Dremel grinder. A lift of my lip and a flash of my teeth convinced her otherwise.

In a just cosmos, the Top Dog would send pet groomers to their own special corner of hell. Let’s just see how they like having their glands squeezed for all of eternity!

Until I properly trained them, my family experimented with feeding me only twice daily. Puh-lease! I’ve watched the man of the house—he eats three meals a day and snacks in between. Why should I be treated any different?

Don’t get me wrong—I still tip the scales at a svelte 10.5 pounds. However, I like the security of food in my bowl 24/7/365.

Even if it’s full, I like to scratch the floor beside my bowl. This informs any human within hearing range it’s time for His Highness to dine. I insist the nearest non-canine top off the bowl with fresh food—yet another endearing practice that my humans adore.

Over the years, I’ve accumulated a basket of squeaky toys. I occasionally treat my humans to a tug-of-war game. I’ve been best friends with Moo-Cow for years. I drag her into the middle of the floor and tear out her stuffing before snuggling together. Love hurts sometimes.

The man likes his routine. Every morning we wake up and take a walk around the neighborhood. Then he tops off my food and water bowls. Before leaving the house, he always takes me outside a second time. Then we observe “Trick and Treat” time.

Humans LOVE to do tricks. After he pulls a treat out of the box, I’ve trained him to hold it over my head and say “Sit!” Then I hold out my paw, and he’s learned to shake hands. Dropping on my stomach cues him to say “Down!” Finally, I allow him to give me a treat.

Like I said last time, it’s a dog’s life, and I’m not complaining. The Great Master in the Sky has blessed my family richly. Between you and me, I believe the Hound of Heaven has a soft spot for canines.

Think about it—“dog” is “God” spelled backwards. Coincidence? I don’t think so!