“Half a Treat, Full Drama” — by August
- August Quinn
- Oct 9
- 2 min read
Working from home today, and it’s safe to say productivity has left the building — mostly because Roxi has filed an emotional grievance.
See, she’s currently in the middle of a full-blown bulldog standoff because I gave her half a treat instead of a full one. Half. Not zero. Not crumbs. Half. You’d think I cut her off from her trust fund. The betrayal in her eyes was Shakespearean.
She took that half treat like it was the final straw in a long, painful saga of dietary injustice — chewing it extra slow, pausing for dramatic effect, then turning her head just enough to glare at me from the side. Not a bark. Not a growl. Just pure, unfiltered judgment. The kind that makes you question your entire moral compass.
Meanwhile, Xena — our resident wolf mix and self-proclaimed security chief — decided to spice things up by terrifying the delivery guy. Poor man was just trying to drop off the proof copies of Out.Again, my latest book, and Xena went full “guardian of the gates” mode. No bite, no bark — just that silent, unblinking stare that says, “State your business, mortal.” He left the package on the porch like it was a bomb. She’s back inside now, pacing proudly like she just saved the nation.
Back in the office, Roxi’s still sulking. She’s positioned herself in her bed — head propped dramatically on the armrest, eyes following me like a disappointed Italian grandmother. Every keystroke earns me another grunt. Every sip of coffee? A sigh. The tension in this house could power a small city.
It doesn’t help that she’s recently dropped three pounds — which, in her mind, makes her an elite athlete. She’s got the confidence of someone who’s already planning her “How I Did It” TED Talk. “Eat half. Judge fully.” Coming soon to Netflix.
I tried to reason with her, explaining that portion control is love. She responded by turning her back to me and exhaling so loudly it reset my Wi-Fi. The dog equivalent of hanging up mid-call.
So here I am — one hand on my keyboard, the other ready to negotiate a peace treaty with a bulldog who’s holding her snack bowl hostage. Xena’s still watching the driveway like she’s expecting a sequel, and I’m just trying to finish an email before the next round of canine side-eye begins.
It’s chaos. It’s home. It’s Thursday.
— August 🐾(Trying to work, living under snack-related scrutiny.)
