Hey Dad,

Just giving you the daily scoop from The Bark & Ledger: mastered the art of the professional nap, survived the vacuum monster yet again, and scored roast beef treasures. Meditated under the sunbeam, and now gearing up for the celebratory car ride home. Life’s ruff when you’re the top dog in the finance world!

Catch you on the fluff side,
Beast 🐾

I suppose you could say my weekdays are as structured as a well-planned dinner party – if that party happened every single day and consisted mainly of naps, conference room ‘meetings’ with chew toys, and the occasional spilled coffee.

Take this morning, for one, as I graced the ergonomically-designed doggy beds of “The Bark & Ledger,” Spencerville’s premier financial firm for the more discerning canine clientele. I strolled past The Pampered Pooch Salon—fresh from my monthly coiffure; no self-respecting bulldog would ever turn up to work unkempt.

I flopped down by my workspace, an oversized cushion right by Dad’s desk. The humans insist on calling him ‘Branch Manager’, but to me, he’s just Dad. They have no idea, of course, of my disdain for their insistence on titles – as if I’d ever respond to “Junior Accounts Manager.” Gabby is quite enough, thank you.

My friend Amy, a perky spaniel with more energy than the Shih Tzu Stadium on game day, scurried past, yammering on about the upcoming ‘team-building exercise’ at Bulldog Bay. Dogs team-build by sniffing each other. We don’t need trust falls.

Suddenly, the sound I dread slices through the humdrum of the office: the rolling wheels of that infernal machine known to terrorize our kind—the vacuum cleaner. I dart under Dad’s desk. The humans think it’s some sort of game – oh, how they laugh – but deep down, I know it’s a monster that eats dog toys and joy.

As the vacuum retreats and tranquility resumes, I am left alone with my hedgehog toy – my comfort in this whirlwind of files and paper. I’ve got to get through the monotonia with some mindless chew time.

The lunch hour rings in like a symphony’s crescendo, except it’s not so much a bell as it is the clattering of a million kibbles into a hundred bowls over at the Doggy Bagel Deli. If heaven had a smell, it would clearly be roast beef on rye. Dad sneaks me a bit under the table, and for a moment, all is right in the world.

Then there’s the afternoon slog, made bearable only by the sunbeam just right for sunbathing. Every one of us dozes, from the dachshunds to the Saint Bernards. Some call it laziness; I call it meditation.

Closing time is an event, a festival of swishing tails and jingling collars. Amy’s barking her head off about some evening plans, but I’m looking forward to my car ride. Each journey holds the wind’s promise – unless it leads to the vet, that is—but let’s not end on such a dour note.

You might think life at The Bark & Ledger is a curious existence for a dog. But here, in Spencerville, where each day blends into the next with the predictability of a metronome, I find there’s a certain charm. After all, there’s enough unpredictability in the phantom menace that is solitude. I, for one, prefer the devil I know – and if that’s a mockingly slow-moving ceiling fan or a delightful game of tug-of-war with the office supplies, well, that’s a day in the life worth wagging about.

The End.