In My Own Voice #15: Ninja Dog

Mostly black, I blend into my surroundings. A master of hidden movement, I belly crawl through the hostas, barely causing a leaf to quiver.

I can hold one position without moving for long periods of time. See Playing possum.

Ingeniously protecting our home-front perimeter, I have created strategically placed people blinds: nests in the flowerbeds where I can lie, surrounded by tall plants, observing all without being detected.

But my greatest feat is hiding in plain sight. Curled up under a table or on a sofa, my family moves around me as if I am not there. I am privy to their private conversations.

Thinking I am not listening, they talk in front of me the way they never would if they remembered I was there. Why, they ponder do I walk so slowly? Is it old age, they fret? Is the heat getting to me?

Gleefully laughing at their feeble attempts to understand, I determine to continue my campaign of passive resistance.

No longer will I tolerate being pulled away from the perfumed blade of grass another dog left for my delectation. Nor will I stomach being dragged onward before I have fully marked my territory.

No. Ninjas stand strong. Ninjas fight back.

I, Pettigrew, the Ninja Dog, do decree that until this abuse of my sacred walking time stops, I will continue to drag my feet.

I’m listening. I’ll know when you finally understand.