Who Wears The Collar?


Daisy stands on her back legs beside my bed, raking my face with her sandpaper paws. The sun is up, she tells me as she licks my hand and refuses to let me sleep.

Who Wears The Collar?

Dragging myself out of bed, the air is chilly outside; I haven’t even had time to get coffee in a cup. She somehow gets me out into the yard to play ball.

Who Wears The Collar?

I know she just went out as I get busy around the house, but this is the fifth time she stands at the back door whining. She is NOT in need of relieving herself.

Who Wears The Collar?

I can gather my stuff, to work on something, placing everything on the cocktail table. It become inevitable, I must choose a different seat as Daisy now occupies the area she decided I was prepping for her.

Who Wears The Collar?

Workout on the floor means I am in her territory. Pushups and such become an act of play…try to move with a 75 lb dog sitting on your stomach.

Who Wears The Collar?

Leaving to run errands can be tricky. If the truck door is open and I turn my back, Daisy loads herself in and
She drops the ball at my feet as I get dressed for work reminding me we’ve only played ball 10 times today. She sees her chances slimming for more. The uniform means Moma is leaving. She rests her head and her ball on the window sill and the pout goes on.

Yesh, Who Wears The Collar?