The continued saga of what I imagine my dogs do when I’m gone.
“Paw me that newspaper.” Casey nudged Linus with her nose. “The one the cat knocked off the table.”
Linus kicked the paper over with his back feet on his way to the back porch. He eyed the cat door. Damn. It still appeared to be smaller than his head. He’d gotten through it one time, he was sure; he just couldn’t remember how. “Why do you want it, anyway?”
Casey sprawled on the floor, staring at the paper intently. “I’m going to get a job.”
“A what?” Linus sat, perplexed enough to forget about all fantasies of raiding the litter box.
“A job. It’s when–”
“I know what a job is,” the yellow dog retorted. “I just never expected you to get one. You’re the laziest dog ever.” He scratched his ear, then checked his foot for earwax. “Wait. You can read?”
Casey snorted, the vibrations fluttering her schnauzer mustache. “Of course I can read. What you see as me being lazy, I see as me practicing.”
“But you’re still lazy,” Linus pointed out.
“But I’m still lazy,” Casey acknowledged.
“So why are you getting a job?”
“Very simple. I need to stockpile my bean supply.”
Of course, it wasn’t very simple to Linus, wasn’t simple at all. But what did it matter? He liked beans. “What kind of job are you getting?” Now that he was thinking about them, he hoped this job involved beans.
“That’s just the problem,” Casey growled. “There aren’t any good openings for a dog. Everything requires thumbs.”
“Check Craigslist,” Linus offered. “On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog.”
Casey skipped and spun in circles. Linus did the same; it seemed like a fun thing to do. “That. Is. Brilliant,” she told him. “Get on the other computer and help me check.”
Wait a minute, Linus wondered as he typed the human’s password. Does That Other Dog expect me to get a job too? He already had a perfectly good way to spend his days, licking himself and chasing kitties, not necessarily in that order. He whined softly. But — beans.