Dog Days of Winter

If a dog can complain about life, my one complaint would be this: I don’t like the winter. Not because of the weather– I love wearing my cozy wool coat, chasing snowflakes, and feeling the crisp January air blow through my fur as I walk to “work” at daybreak. No, the problem with winter is the humans: there just aren’t that many around.

You see, each year when my human pulls my collection of jingle-bell sweaters from the closet and our house begins to smell of gingerbread, there seem to be fewer people at Swarthmore to pet me, feed me, and marvel at my cuteness. The older ones rush in and out of their offices like squirrels between trees, clamoring about stories and “files” and everything else but me, while the younger ones who are always so excited to see me suddenly are absent. My human once told me it was something to do with “Application Reading Season,” “Winter Break,” and “Vacation.” Whatever it is, it’s not for me. I spend at least 105 dog minutes each morning primping and grooming my beautiful brown locks for people to adore each day. Where is my audience? Where is the love? Where are the treats?!

Fortunately, my two canine compadres down the hall, Bruno and Brody, do offer some quality company when the humans aren’t available. Bruno, the pup of the pack, is a 14-month-old party animal from New Orleans who loves to bark hello whenever I stroll by; Brody, who looks like his Norfolk Terrier twin, is a wise old sage known throughout the hall for being able to rip apart anything before you can say “Cavalier King Charles Spaniel” (that’s me). Together, we hold down the “dog house” (as we like to call it) alright, but truthfully, it’s just not the same. We need to be petted, need to be fed, need to be loved.


So humans– especially those younger ones with the backpacks and the smiles– please come back. I’m tired of winter. And I’ve missed you.

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