We're hanging out in the living room.Joel's grinning under that teal blanket, with Cruise sprawled across his lap like he owns the place. And me? I’m on the other chair, keeping an eye on everything. Don’t be fooled by my calm face—I’m watching. Always watching.
Cruise. Hmph. Leon’s dog. A soldier’s dog. Came to stay with us while Leon was off in Afghanistan. He’s fine, I guess—too fine, if you ask me. Too friendly, too quick to roll over and flash that goofy smile. Joel loves him, but I’m not sure about him. I don’t trust a dog who doesn’t at least try to guard the house. He just lies there wagging his tail like life is all belly rubs and biscuits.
Not me. I’m Chewy—first of my name, porch protector, defender of Emma and Joel. My love comes with teeth and a growl. When I guard, I mean it. And now I have to keep an eye on this guy too, just in case his soft smile hides sneaky intentions.
The other day, Cruise tried to nap on my spot by the window. I let him know—one growl, low and slow. He backed off. Good. That’s how it works around here. You don’t just waltz into my house and start acting like you’re king. I’m king.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s not all bad. He’s good with Joel—lets the kid wrap him up in blankets, snuggle him like a teddy bear. And Emma seems happy when he’s around, so I guess I can tolerate him. But I’m watching. Always watching.
Peanut? That little guy doesn’t care. He’s just bouncing around the house like Cruise is his new best friend. Figures. Peanut’s soft like that. Someone’s gotta stay tough, and that someone is me.
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