The Search for Something More.
By Bella: four-legged philosopher of the good things and the occasional sock.
I woke up at dawn, like I always do, stretching out the sleep and pressing my paws into the cool kitchen tiles. The humans were still in bed, their slow breaths humming through the walls. Good. That meant I had time to think.
Because lately, I’ve been wondering.
The treats come easy—little crunchy rewards for sitting, staying, not barking at the vacuum (which, let’s be honest, is clearly a demon in a plastic shell). But after the crunch fades, there’s this… hollowness. Like I’ve been given a bone with all the good stuff already gnawed out.
So today, I decided to investigate.
Step One: The Treat Audit
I sniffed out the usual suspects—the bacon-flavoured squares, the chewy peanut butter nubs, even the fancy “gourmet bites” they save for special occasions. Each one lit up my brain for a second, tail wagging on autopilot. But then—nothing. No answers. Just the faint aftertaste of chicken powder and existential doubt.
Step Two: Consult the Wise One
The cat, ancient and perpetually unimpressed, was draped over the back of the couch like a furry throw blanket. I nudged her.
“Do you ever feel like we’re just… distractions?” I asked.
She cracked one eye. “We’re pets. Distraction is the job.”
“But what’s our purpose?”
She yawned. “You’re a dog. You bark. You fetch. You nap in sunbeams. Stop overcomplicating it.”
I huffed. Typical cat. But then again—maybe she had a point.
Step Three: The Outside Investigation
I pressed my nose to the grass, the dirt, the fence posts where other dogs had left their musings. The world was full of smells—old rain, squirrel trails, the ghost of a steak someone dropped last summer. And beneath it all, something else. A hum. A question.
The humans call it “trying to make sense of the noise.” I call it sniffing for the real thing.
Maybe it’s not about the treats. Maybe it’s about the moments between them—the belly rubs that last just a little too long, the way they laugh when I “help” with the gardening (by digging up their flowers), the way they whisper “good dog” like it’s a secret only we know.
Final Conclusion:
I don’t need more snacks. I need the stuff that makes my tail wag without thinking. The stuff that feels like a sunbeam on my fur—warm and simple and enough.
So I’ll keep barking at the mailman. Keep stealing socks. Keep nosing their hands onto my head when they’re too busy staring at their glowing rectangles.
Because we’re not just pets. We’re the reminder. The “hey, pay attention—this is the good part.”
And yeah, I’ll still take the treats. But only the really good ones.
—Bella
