Bertie picked his stuffed monkey up by its long tail and tossed it up in the air--catching it in his mouth. With another tail wag, Bertie trotted back into the living room and jumped again onto the red couch. Once he had gotten himself situated on his favorite cushion, Bertie carefully placed the monkey in front of him. Using the monkey as a pillow, Bertie fell asleep again.
Bertie's dreams were vivid and oddly colorful. In his dream, he felt the cold tap of rain on his white back and he could smell wet hay. There were hands in his dream--many hands--and they touched his ears and pulled his tail. And chickens. Yes, chickens filled the dream. White chickens running--their funny red hats flapping in the breeze as they ran and squawked. Feathers flying everywhere and fluttering down softly, like snow--Bertie could smell the chickens. He could smell their fear. And, he could hear himself barking. But he wasn’t alone. There was a man in the dream. Over the great din of barking and squawking, Bertie could hear the man yelling. His words were harsh and sharp and as cold as the rain.
Bertie woke up and sneezed. He could still smell the hay from his dream. But, suddenly he was distracted. What was that? Was it a car in the driveway? Was that the side gate clicking shut? Bertie heard footsteps on the porch and craned his neck to look out the front window.
"Daddy!" Bertie shouted. But, to human ears it sounded more like, "Rowroof." Bertie quickly jumped from the couch and ran to the front door. He sat right in front of the door--straining to see through the green stained glass. He listened for the familiar sound of the key turning in the lock and for the first sight of a black-shoed foot. "Daddy’s home!" Bertie’s tail began to wag.
Suddenly the door opened and there was his Daddy.
"Bertie Dog!" daddy said happily, "Bertie Dog, Bertie Dog! How’s my good boy?"
Bertie jumped up and put his front paws on his daddy’s leg. His daddy patted Bertie on the head with one hand and grabbed Bertie's left paw with the other. "How’s my good boy?" His daddy asked again.
Bertie barked his hellos. "My daddy is home! I’m fine! How’s my daddy?" Bertie’s tail wagged so quickly and happily that his whole back end wiggled.
"Come on, Mr. Good Boy," Bertie’s daddy said. "Come with me. Let’s play."
Bertie scrambled after daddy--his nails clicking on the green-painted wooden floor.
"Let’s play!" Bertie’s daddy said happily. Bertie followed his father into the bedroom and jumped up on the bed. Bertie rubbed his face on all the pillows as he watched daddy take off his shoes, then take his wallet and keys out of his pocket. Next, daddy took off his watch and placed it gently in the black metal box on the dresser. All the while, Bertie’s daddy said things like, "You’re my good boy. You’re such a good boy. Did you have a good day?"
Bertie’s tail was still wagging. They did the same thing every day. Bertie liked the routine. He liked the comfort and safety of it all.
Bertie’s dad sat down on the bed next to Bertie as he did every day. Bertie climbed on his daddy’s lap and smelled him. He had been at work. Bertie could tell by the way his daddy smelled. Bertie smelled his daddy’s hands and arms. They smelled of books and ink and ever so slightly like cologne. Bertie sniffed his daddy’s legs, they smelled of car and pretzels and that building that daddy went to every day. It was a strange smell. Bertie had been to that building a couple of times. It was big and dark and stinky. Bertie didn’t really like it. But, some of the people he had met there were nice.
Bertie licked his daddy’s face and then rolled over on his back. His daddy scratched Bertie’s belly and said sweet, happy things. After a few moments, Bertie's daddy said, "You’re such a good boy. And, I love you SO much.":
Bertie rolled over on his side and panted.
"Now, let’s call mama!" Bertie’s daddy said. He said this every night. This was the part of the day when his dad picked up the long piece of plastic box and spoke to it. Whenever this happened, Bertie could hear the box talking back. The box always sounded like his daddy’s mother and father, "Grandma and Grandpa." Bertie wondered how they got inside of there.
Bertie’s daddy picked up the telephone and before he dialed he said, "When we’re finished on the phone, I’ll take you outside!"
Bertie's eyes widened with excitement at the word, "Outside."
"And, then," Bertie’s daddy continued, "Afterwards, we’ll have dinner."
Bertie’s tail began to wag again.
"And, you know what? You get a special treat with your kibble tonight! A little bit of nice CHICKEN! Do you like chicken, Bertie?"
"Woooooooof," Bertie answered in dog language as he thought to himself. "Chicken! Chicken! Of course, I like chicken! Who doesn’t? Why, I’ve even chased chickens!"
As Bertie’s daddy spoke into the plastic box, Bertie lay down on one of the green velvet pillows on the bed.
"I’ve chased chickens?" Bertie thought to himself. "Have I? Or did I dream that? No, I really did chase chickens! I did!" And, then Bertie remembered. "I lived with chickens! I lived in a chicken coop!"
Bertie sighed, "Well, why would anyone keep a terrier puppy in a chicken coop?"
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