Misaki's World

What I have learned in my better than eight years on this planet is that a good offense is much, much better than a good defense. It’s also important to have a well devised, intelligent offense, not one running around willy nilly.

To that end, I have been patient, waiting for my opportunity. I have developed a passing acquaintance with my enemies. Not enough to call them friends, but enough so they don’t think of me as an enemy, just “that dog they see sometimes.”

I go out in the yard and I watch them, follow them with my eyes. I don’t bark nor do I chase, but I’m always watching, with a slight head nod now and then to acknowledge their glances in my direction. This is all part of the plan, a plan to make them think of me as nothing more than an observer, when really I’m just soaking everything about them in, gathering intelligence on their movements, their tendencies, their likes, their dislikes, and where they lay their heads at night.

This morning I decided I had the information I needed and it was time, after almost two years of observing and planning, to go into action.

It was a dark and stormy morning, the rain pouring down from the sky and creating small streams running through the lawn. Still, I didn’t hesitate when Dad let me out into the weather after breakfast; hey, when you have to go, you have to go, right?

I headed out to the grass and did my business, ignoring the heavy raindrops bouncing off my fur. I heard a twig break and turned my head towards the large tree at the top of our sloped backyard. Under that tree it’s not dry, but the limbs block out most of the rain. Under cover of the sound of rain bouncing off the sunroom windows, I slipped up to the base of the tree towards the source of the sound.

Sneaking around the base of the trunk I saw him, sitting just a few feet away with his back to me: a squirrel. Mom and Dad joke about how I am never close to catching one, but now, oh now, I am not only close but I can taste it. 

I didn’t hesitate, pouncing with both front paws onto the squirrels neck, his muted scream stifled when his neck broke. I could feel him still twitching under my feet, but there was no doubt his time on this earth had come to an end.

At that moment Dad called me to come in. Sweet of him, really, to think about me in the pouring rain instead of just ignoring me for his morning book and coffee, so I did what any self-respecting Shiba would do; I brought him my prize.

With the tail and his size the squirrel proved more difficult to move than I expected, his body getting caught up in my legs as I ran back to the sunroom door, where I dropped it and waited to come inside with my offering. Dad looked surprised and made me leave it outside.

“It’s still moving!” he whined. So he left it, now returning to finish his coffee.

I wouldn’t let him forget about my kill, my nails click-clacking continuously over the hardwood floor as I paced back and forth to the door. He sighed, cleaned up his dishes, and went to retrieve a garbage bag before we went back outside in the rain.

Dad is such a wuss. He freaked out when the squirrel’s leg moved involuntarily and was nauseated by the fact the body was still warm. Still, he bagged it up and we went back in the house, where he took my prize then to the garage and dumped it in the trash can. 

Sidenote, Dad: MY PRIZE KILL IS NOT TRASH! HUFF!!!!!

He did gratuitously reward me with treats and praise my hunting skills though, so I allowed him to pet me. 

Here is my message to Squirrel Nation: You have been warned. One of yours dead can be just that, just one, a symbol of delineation of what’s mine (the world) and what’s yours (nothing). Or it can be the start of something terrible, something bloody…and something I will win anyway.

Now it’s your move. I’ve made my stance clear. What are you going to do?

The other day I had to pull out one of the most tricky weapons in the Shiba arsenal: the double huff.

Here’s the situation: Every evening right before bed, after my final bathroom break where I usually just nom grass until Dad says come back in, Dad will grab one of my Zuke’s treats and we go to the bedroom, closing the door away from the cats.

Then he and Mom alternate giving me treats. Well, they claim to giving me “commands” and the treats are a “reward,” but the reality is I do whatever I want. I may, coincidentally, do what they ask, but it’s on my terms so I get the treat. Humans are so easily manipulated.

Anyway.

So Dad and I come into the bedroom. I know he has the treat. I sit perfectly right at his feet, which leads to treats. And what does he tell me?! “Not yet Misaki.” Oh, right, like he’s dictating terms here. What’s up with that? We all know that’s not true.

I turn to Mom, pivoting on my haunches so I don’t give up the perfect sit. She usually has a treat, too. And what does she do? Just shakes her head. “I don’t have one yet.” Um, what? Excuse me, but that’s not how it works.

I looked back and forth from Mom to Dad…but no treats were being made available. So I had to do it. Humans need to be put in their place.

Facing Dad squarely, still sitting, I huffed at him. Then I turned to Mom and huffed at her.

BOOM! The double huff. It’s a thing of beauty.

Naturally the humans responded with immediate treats. That’s how it should work. 

Fellow Shibas with more than one human to keep in line, master this power. It will serve you well. 

So I’m walking Mom and Dad to the park like I do every day - have to make sure I get them their exercise - and we came to an intersection. A woman in a white car pulls to a stop and rolls down her window.

“Excuse me,” she said. “But what kind of dog is that? She’s gorgeous!”

“A Shiba,” Mom replied.

“Wow! She really is a beautiful dog!”

Mom thanked her and we went on to the park, but there is one point I’d like to make here (you may have already reached this conclusion).

That’s right - I’m so cute, I stop traffic. 

Shiba Approved