Tate here. I am wondering why you hoomans feel the need to change the clocks. This last weekend started great, we had all kinds of fun kids come to the door, dressed up as goblins and spidermen, asking for treats (puh-lease, the should come to me for advice on how to wrangle treats from hoomans…) They even had some dogs, including a Frenchie dressed as a Bratwurst. Anyway, on Sunday, I noticed that something was fishy.
First, my daddy, he slept in. He does that sometimes, but not too often. I try to keep him on a regimen, 5:00AM is the right time to get up and pay attention to me.
But I cut him some slack. Of course, Mommy had to go visit her mommy, she always seems to abandon us on the weekends. Boo.
Then it was dinner time. I know what time is dinner time. I start with a couple of hors d’oeuvre’s that are really my pills in a pill pocket. I know that means that the main course is coming. However, that time came, and my Daddy didn’t get me my appetizers.
Seriously, what is up with that?
Then I once again checked my paw-pilot. Yep. Dinner time. So I go stare at my Daddy in my best “come on” look. No dice, he ignored me. Why I never…
Then I remember that it is that time where the clocks get set back an hour. How dumb is that? I guess I never knew how spoilt I was in Arizona, one of the last bastions that do not mess with their clocks. The first 6 years of my life was bliss, not knowing the chaos that happens when you tinker with circadian rhythms by pushing the clock back. Lose an hour in the spring, gain it back in the fall.
Screw that, feed me my damn dinner!