Journal of Morph, a Good Dog
I mean, I’m basically a good dog. I mean, I think I am.
But really, what am I. What is my status? Am I a slave? I’m owned by someone. I’m not allowed to go outside by myself untethered to a keeper. What’s my job, my purpose in life. I mean I know how to shake hands, sit, stay, and I can heal pretty good if there are not too many squirrels around. You know, basic skills. What I don’t know is why.
The only thing I know is that I’m basically a good dog, or at least they keep telling me..
Here’s waiting for the other shoe to drop...
Your bewildered correspondent,
Ugh oh. Here comes someone. It’s the boy and he’s got a ball. I had better assume the position. He’ll want to play fetch, I just know it. How inane. At first I fein enthusiasm, but embarrassingly, before long I’m (gag) into it. Go figure. Gotta go fetch. Sheesh.
I don’t remember how I got here. I am so in tuned with the family’s comings and going‘s and it has been a long time, before my memories really kicked in. For instance, I remember before the baby and I remember some of the kids used to be smaller. The bigger people, who seem to think they are in charge, have not grown any. In fact I remember them being gigantic in my first memories of them. So much for thinking I know what reality is.
I just noticed that everyone else seems to change their outfits daily as though they don’t have any real confidence in the way they look. I seem to have had the same outfit on for my whole life. I think that shows a good deal confidence, don’t you?
You know, I don’t think this thing even comes off. More bewilderment.