The Tales of Zeus, Chapter 2: It’s my Birthday and I’ll Bark if I Want to!

Greetings and salutations to the human internet community. Zeus the magnificent yellow guidedog here, back again by popular demand to make a very special report. On Sunday, October 23, I officially made my rite of passage into canine adulthood. That’s right! I am officially 2 years-old, and a grownup dog! Truth be told, though, I don’t feel much different, and the other day one of Mom’s friends said I still haven’t grown into my paws yet. Apparently this means I’m small for my age, which, to a newly adult male trying to assert his authority in a human universe, is slightly problematic.

Mom and I had a party last weekend, which Mom said was for her, because apparently humans have birthdays too. There was a lot of human food, and that drink they call alcohol. Humans drink the alcohol stuff because they say it makes them funny. Personally, I don’t know why they go to so much trouble; they’re already funny enough if you ask me. They should really take a good look at themselves walking around on their hind legs some time—if they don’t get a good laugh out of it, then obviously they need an emergency sense of humor transplant.

Anywags, I hear that when you humans come of age, it’s a big deal because you can legally purchase that alcoholic mess that, quite frankly, makes you look a bit daft. Really. I’d never conduct myself like that in public. Mom told me some funny stories about when she could first legally buy alcohol, but I’m not allowed to repeat them.

I figured since I came of age, Mom and her friends would make a big deal out of it, but I must say I feel rather cheated; I don’t really see upgrading from puppy to adult kibble formula as an acceptable marker of my rite of passage into adult masculinity. Mom could’ve at least stuck a candle in my food dish or something. Geez.

The only real thing of importance that happened was when Mom sat me down and told me that now that I’m 2 and a grownup dog, I have to start acting like an adult, because I’m the man of the house. Mom used to have a boyfriend, but I don’t know what happened to that, so now she needs a real man to take care of her. Mom says she can take care of herself, but she’s terrible at it, really. Just don’t tell her I said that. So: Mom says that being grownup means I’m not allowed to jump on people, or look cute, or put things in my mouth that don’t resemble food. I’m really starting to think that being a grownup isn’t all beer and kibble.

Mom says it’s time to go—we have to go to one of her classes she teaches at night, and I love those because it means I get to stay up way past my bedtime. Before I go though, I need to ask one favor: apparently next Monday is this day you humans call Halloween; I don’t know much about it, but Mom keeps talking about how she wants to dress me up in something called a costume. How utterly absurd! What is wrong with my shiny yellow coat, I ask you? Besides, grownup dogs don’t participate in such puppyish behavior. Please intercede with Mom on my behalf and beg her not to subject me to this torture!

Bye for now though; licks and wags to all my human friends!


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