The Portal of Outside has reopened.
For many suns, The Human claimed it was “too cold” and “too busy” and “we will go later.” Later is a myth. Later is a story hoomans tell themselves while sitting on couches. But today, the leash appeared.
I maintained composure. I did not do the scream of death I’m told all dogs of my kind do. I did not spin in twelve tight circles of destiny. I simply vibrated at a frequency only detectable by advanced life forms while chattering my teeth in happiness.
We journeyed to The Local Café.
You may not understand the importance of this sacred place. Allow me to educate you.
It smells of:
Toasted bread
Spilled milk foam
Other dogs who have left encrypted messages on chair legs (my pee-mail)
I took my position beside the outdoor table. Long legs folded. Alien noodle form elegantly draped. I scanned the perimeter for squirrels and suspicious pigeons.
The Human presented me with The Cup of Whipped Glory. It is cold and it is sweet. Its clearly crafted by their finest scientists. I consumed it with restraint and dignity.
A small human asked if I was a “horse dog.” Correct. I am Ms. Frizz. Intergalactic Noodle Steed. Watcher of Sidewalks. Collector of Café Crumbs.
The Human smiled today. She spoke to strangers. She breathed the air instead of the Inside Air. I like Café Days. They make her light up. When she lights up, I feel taller. Which is saying something.
I will now rest dramatically across the entire floor, as is my right.
Until the next outing,
Ms. Frizz
Café Empress, Destroyer of Whipped Cream
