Information


Edsel_663 has a minion!

Lisa the Dancing Muse




Edsel_663
Legacy Name: Edsel_663


The Reborn Ruffie
Owner: Aperture

Age: 10 years, 2 months, 3 weeks

Born: August 31st, 2010

Adopted: 9 years, 9 months, 1 week ago

Adopted: February 18th, 2011


Pet Spotlight Winner
July 7th, 2016

Statistics


  • Level: 2
     
  • Strength: 10
     
  • Defense: 10
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 10
     
  • HP: 10/10
     
  • Intelligence: 0
     
  • Books Read: 0
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Unemployed


My morning is spent growling at Andrew. Lisa, my old secretary, tells him that dogs always growl at strangers, that I just don't know him well enough yet. That's bullshit. I don't growl at anyone else. I was trained better than that. I just hate him. As soon as that bastard enters the room, the hairs on my back leap up in a fury. And that's just when I smell him: the stench of expensive bad cologne and Rogaine. When I see him, my lips curl on their own and I just rumble at him until he goes past.

I have a plan, you see. If I'm threatening enough, maybe he'll run the other way and leave my office. Mine, mine, still mine, but he doesn't get that no matter how many times I growl or how often I mark it. I've left messages on his chair, the desk, the rug. The office reeks of me, and he still doesn't get the hint.

I might have to take it to the next step and start to bark. I'd bite him if I could, I really would, but I know what happens to dogs who get a reputation like that. I'm a Chow Chow, and we're supposed to be biters. People look at me suspicious even when I'm being friendly. And even if I knew I wouldn't get in trouble with anyone else, I don't think I could stand the look on Lisa's face. She was always good to me, even when I was a person and her boss, and she's even better now. She cooks my food (no dry kibble for me), she takes me for walks, and she scratches me like an expert. Somehow, she can always find that spot that makes my foot twitch in an epileptic frenzy.

She's trying to find it now, leaning out of her chair, and as soon as her fingers dig into my fur I can't be mad. My tail is wagging frantically, or trying to; it's too curled for a proper back and forth lashing, so it just sort of wiggles and shakes. Lisa says it looks like my tail is dancing whenever I'm happy. She's always saying silly things like that, but I forgive her for them. I didn't used to. If I was a person again, I would be yelling at her for wasting time with dogs and similes, but right now I feel too good to tell her. Instead, I let my black tongue loll out appreciatively in a sort of doggy smile.

At least, until Andrew comes back. He tosses a stack of papers on her desk and starts yelling at her for being lazy and sloppy in her work. She isn't. I see how hard she focuses and how much time she puts into everything at home. I can't say this, of course. I can only growl at him until he looks at me instead of her. The fear in his eyes makes me feel strong. I'm still the one in charge of this place, and that bastard needs to know it.

"Control that damn animal, Lisa!" he shouts. He would throw me out if he was allowed to, but I am a service dog. I pull Lisa's chair and pick things up and turn on lights and other useful things (Andrew isn't half as useful as I am). I am safe from his wrath. But she isn't, and she looks down until he leaves.

I nose her hand to say I am sorry. Not for the growling, but for getting her in trouble. She doesn't deserve that.

She rubs my head. "I know Andrew's a jerk, boy. I don't blame you for growling at him." She sighs and laughs a bit, trying to make light of things. "You should have seen my old boss. He was even worse!"

I whine. Impossible! Okay, I yelled at her. And I never helped her when she needed it. And I dropped stacks of paper on her desk too. Even bigger ones than that because she always forgot her commas and oh god I was just like him. I whine more, wagging my tail because she likes to watch it dance, and I want her to be happy and I want to make up for everything.

She just laughs at me, bats at the waving strands of fluff. "You silly boy, it isn't your fault!"

But it is, it always is, and I can only try to make it up to her.


Profile Code by sonata Overlay by User not found: diamond

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