I was lying on the floor near our window overlooking the creek, soaking up the sun. It was a rare moment of calm in the busy life of an international canine religious icon. I stretched out slowly, my legs shaking with satisfaction as I let out a big yawn. My gaze turned to the yard outside. I felt such contentment that I didn't even bother to bark at the passing ducks. As my eyelids grew heavy and I laid my head back on the soft rug once again, I heard something from the other room.
"Mugsy!" my mother exclaimed. "It's time for revolution!" I sprang to my feet and ran a quick circle before bounding toward the living room, adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Yes!" I thought. "Today is the day for revolution! We shall overthrow this human-dominated government. We shall install pugs and terriers and bulldogs in positions of power. We shall make the humans wear leashes for a change." I rounded the corner, running in place for a moment as my paws sought traction on the tile floor. "Yes, Mother," I barked, "it is time for revolution! Summon my followers. We shall convene at the mosque in 15 minutes." But then she grabbed me by the collar and held a small bottle between my shoulder blades. "There you go, Mugsy," she said." There's your Revolution. Now you won't have any fleas."
I was left with nothing but a tuft of spiky fur on my back. Why must I fall for this ruse every single month?
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