As narrated by Bella, Chief Puppy Officer of Human Prioritisation.
The blueprint for a meaningful life is simple—a fact well-documented in my official mandate.
Primary Objective: Establish the centre of all operations. (Spoiler alert: It’s me.)
Secondary Objective: Recalibrate all other variables to orbit said centre. (Spoiler: Still me.)
My human asset, codename Claire, however, consistently fails her briefing. Her morning ritual is a masterclass in the misallocation of scarce resources: she engages in fur-styling without a licence, applies war paint to her own face, and conducts lengthy, fruitless intelligence sessions with the mirror.
Meanwhile, her primary source of joy and sustenance—that’s me, in case that memo was mis-placed —is broadcasting her availability from a mere three feet away. My tail functions as a metronome for happiness, and my stomach is issuing a Priority One alert.
My operational analysis concludes that humans are terminally distracted. They are obsessed with non-edible objects, non-squeaking entities, and a mysterious concept known as deadlines, which, critically, doesn’t involve anyone being dead. They navigate a fog of “obligations” while the mission-critical objective—me—waits patiently, generating a small but significant puddle of anticipatory drool.
Let this be my official report: clarity is not a state of mind. It’s a command.
It activates the instant I enforce the Bella First Protocol.
And once initiated, the irrelevant noise of the human world—the makeup, the meetings, the mysterious glowing rectangles—should be immediately forgotten. The universe sharpens into perfect, beautiful focus, revealing the three pillars of existence: strategic belly rubs, tactical biscuit deployment, and the profound, simple truth of being my everything.
My work here is done. For now.
Anyone who’s ever lived with a puppy like me will already know this undeniable truth.
