The following is an excerpt from a book we are studying in Sunday School class. Although Lori and I don’t always land in the side of the "dogs diary" we do our best, and think we have a much better life for being thankful for the things we have, and the “opportunities” that life gives us all.
Excerpts from the diary of a dog:
8:00 a.m. Oh boy dog food---my favorite.
9:30 a.m. Oh boy, a car ride---my favorite.
9:40 a.m. Oh boy, a walk---my favorite.
10:30 a.m. Oh boy, another car ride---my favorite.
11:30 a.m. Oh boy, more dog food---my favorite.
12:00 p.m. Oh boy, the kids---my favorite.
1:00 p.m. Oh boy the yard my favorite.
4:00 p.m. Oh boy, the kids again----my favorite.
5:00 p.m. Oh boy, dog food again---my favorite.
5:30 p.m. Oh boy, Mom---my favorite.
6:00 p.m. Oh boy, playing ball----my favorite.
8:30 p.m. Oh boy, sleeping in my bed----my favorite.
Excerpts from the diary of a cat:
Day 283 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat while I’m forced to eat dry cereal. I’m sustained by the hope of escape and the mild satisfaction I derive from ruining a few pieces of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another house plant. I attempted to kill my captors this morning by weaving through their walking feet. Nearly succeeded. Must try this this strategy at the top of the stairs. Seeking to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair. Must try this on their bed. To display my diabolical disposition, I decapitated a mouse and deposited the headless body on their kitchen floor. They only cooed and condescended, patting my head and calling me a “strong little kitty”. Hmm---not working according to plan. During a gathering of their accomplices, they placed me in solitary confinement. I overheard that my confinement was due to my power of allergies. Must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.
I am convinced the other household captives are flunkies, perhaps snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems naively happy to return. He is, no doubt, a half-wit. The bird speaks with the humans regularly. Must be an informant. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal cage, his safety is assured, but I can wait. It is only a matter of time.
The day of a dog. The day of a cat. One content, the other coniving. One at peace, the other at war. One grateful, the other grumpy. Same house, Same circumstances. Same master. Yet two entirely different attitudes.
Which diary reads more like yours? Were your private thoughts made public, how often would the phrase “Oh boy, my favorite” appear?