I don’t know about you, but it seems awfully unfair to me that I had to die in the first chapter of Still Counting. I’m not saying Adam’s not a nice person – he was a great owner and we had lots of good times together – but he could have started off with me splashing through the waves on Cape Cod, or maybe told a heart-warming story about that time I finally caught a squirrel and then coughed up fur balls for the next two hours just like some stupid cat or something. (And yes, I said it. Cats are stupid.)
So here I am in doggie heaven – where thankfully the good Lord had the sense to separate us from those finicky felines (did I mention cats were stupid?) – and I’m trying to work my way up the social ladder. I could’ve had a slam-dunk express lane to the top-tier if I’d been featured in a book. How many dogs can say that? It would have been dope. Primo dope. I’ve tried to haunt Adam about this when he sleeps, but his response is a pathetic and whiny series of trite platitudes:
“You’re one of the main characters,” he assures me. “Everyone talks about you.”
“But I’m dead,” I say. “Like the proverbial doornail.”
“Only in the physical sense,” Adam retorts. “You’re alive in my heart.”
Yeah sure. With that and fifteen good old American dollars, I can cross the George Washington Bridge and maybe not get mugged when I get to Jersey.
“You’ll always be in my heart,” he continues. “No matter how many dogs come after, you’ll always be number one.”
Sometimes I think Adam is more feline than canine. Just saying.
For more on Still Counting, click here