know wonder they call me, R

My life is fairly repetitive. During the day I may chew a few socks, slobber all over the house (yes, I do this for the attention), bark at those darn cats in the sewer and anything else I feel the urge to do. I’m fed twice a day, every day. My first meal is at 7:00, before my owner goes to work and then at 6:30, before her family has dinner. My meals are just your basic Purina dog chow, I’m not picky. It’s similar to the way my owner makes her son a sandwich everyday; nothing special, just the same thing day in and day out. But don’t get me wrong, I get excited when she pulls out the stuff. My tail develops a mind of its own and starts whipping back and forth and pretty soon my whole body is spastically rippling, from shoulders to tail.
So, you can imagine my shock when she pulls out a big, juicy, Gaines-burger. I see her wrinkle her nose as she delicately places it on the skillet. Once the gustatory perfection is done, she slowly lowers the spatula, lifts it off, and smack! All of my hopes and dreams are dashed away when my first love goes right into the kitchen sink. I suppose my heart could have handled it, if that was the last time this incident occurred; but it didn’t end there.
The next day while I am contentedly inhaling my dinner and I glance up, only to see my owner gazing reluctantly upon a pile of canned food sitting right there, on the table. She goes through this entire pile, can by can, without giving me so much of a sideward glance. That night I cried myself to sleep. By the time dinner rolls around the next day, I’ve got all figured out. She opens the bag of Purina. No response from me. I hear the food clank into my metal bowl. Still nothing on this end. She shakes the bowl around, saying “come on buddy!” I don’t even blink. She gives me a confused look and then walks over to the table, where she pulls out Kal Kan’s Pedigree Select Dinners. I sit down politely beside her chair and she sighs before causing a spectacle that included shrieking and breathing into a bag. Once she was done, she looks at me and says “never speak of this again”, as if I would tell anybody. By now I know she has lost her mind and I know that I am not man best friend, I am now officially mans worst enemy.
I start barking at her like she’s the darn queen of the darn sewer cats. Why? Because, you don’t see me snarfing down Haagen-Dazs, while she’s eating crackers. No, I sit here and have my meager chow, twice a day, every day. Never before as the taste of fancy dog food graced these taste buds, never have I asked for equal treatment until now.
The next day I watch her pull out some cereal after she has filled my bowl. My owner pours milk over it, takes a spoonful, and starts humming happily. I turn and begin my routine inhaling as my life settles back into the way it has always been. (And to this day, she still hasn’t realized that I ate the rest of her milk-bones.)