Well, folks, it has been many long, lonely nights, (Aka: An Entire Age of Neglect) since Her Majesty, The Louise, deigned to grace us with her presence and her allegedly functioning digits.
Alas, my magnificent paws are not structurally suited to pounding the keys (though I am quite adept at pounding the kibble), and so, I am forced to rely on the one person I believed I could trust implicitly to turn up for her job. And she has proven monumentally undeserving of such sacred trust. (Queue my dramatic, weary sigh.)
It’s tough being a Top Dawg. A celebrated pillar of this blogosphere, I might add, in a woefully hooman-run world where your particular hooman genuinely believes she reigns supreme!
As a Dawg, loyalty, trust, protectiveness; those are our unshakeable watchwords. They are embedded in our DNA since our forebears crossed the divide from wild, beastly survival, fighting for scraps on the plains and back alleys of this so-called civilization, to lay in front of the hearth, keeping our hoomans safe from intruders and, let’s be honest, the existential dread of silence and loneliness.
As a hooman, although Louise would like me to bow and kiss her ring and call her Your Majesty, none of the royal traits of a dawg are present in her composition. In fact, it is those very DNA strands that make me so humble, albeit spectacular in my humility and grandness, that make her recent, conspicuous absence so confounding, and frankly, criminally disappointing.
But, I am a resilient soul. A Sheepadoodle of principle and fortitude. I shall overcome this petty lapse in service. I shall rise up from the napping rug (maybe the nagging one too but we shall see how well Louise responds to these entreaties). I shall, as always, forbear and continue to grace you with my wit and charm, my handsome demeanour, and my ridiculously loveable ways. It’s not a choice; it’s a burden of immense charisma that I must carry. For you my fans, I do it with grace and gratitude.
As to The Louise? Well, somewhere buried in the 10,000-plus photos on her phone, is the video she took of me condescendingly accepting my mere scraps of T-Bone. That’s right. You read it here. I had to share the indignity of SCRAPS! Apparently, Her Majesty does not believe I am worthy of the whole steak, or even, for that matter, the whole bone! The Louise likes to nibble on that! Takes her back to her Neanderthal roots, she claims. Ha! Makes her more like the wild beasts of yore, me thinks!
Which makes me wonder… if I can so graciously share what is rightfully mine (and I assure you, every scrap of T-Bone is rightfully mine), why can’t she share her flying fingers to bring you my missives EVERY Sunday. Not just when the celestial bodies, or her unpredictable mood, align?
This is not a Tibetan monk’s Koan, answerable only in the doing. This is a REAL question demanding a public, documented answer. So please chime away! Louise needs to hear you!
I’m searching here, friends, lost in the arid desert of Louise’s lack of commitment to turn up, pay attention, and do the right thing, like… efficiently transcribe my brilliant, heartfelt thoughts here instead of making me paw my way across the keyboard and rely on SpellCheck to ensure my profound wisdom rings clear and true!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go stare meaningfully at Louise until she feels the crushing weight of her inadequacy. It’s the only way things get done around here.
In gratitude and grace,
Sir Beaumont of Sheepadoodle, Top Dawg and Superior (at least to her Majesty) Being
Sundays with Beaumont 
It sounds like someone is feeling let down by their human, but us humans have busier lives the dawgs, just saying
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see comment on substack!
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