(Upbeat, dramatic puppy-pop style — imagine exaggerated spy music meets a toddler tantrum soundtrack)
Verse1 Claire sits down with her dinner plate, Fork in hand — suspicious fate. She takes a bite, and I can’t believe She didn’t look at me first. The audacity! I stare real hard with my biggest eyes, The “feed me now” ones she can’t deny. But she keeps chewing… and all I see Is betrayal in HD.
Pre-Chorus She calls it “me-time”… I call it a crime. And so I whine…
Chorus Whataboutme? I’m right here starving emotionally! You’ve got your snacks and your cup of tea, But you forgot your priority — HELLO, Claire, what about me?! I’m the star of the house, can’t you see? Everything you do should involve treats! So really… honestly… WHAT ABOUT ME?!
Verse2 You sit on the couch for a quiet rest, But my zoomies say that’s not what’s best. You want calm? Sorry — can’t agree. There’s chaos scheduled at half past three. You try to nap for “five minutes, please…” I trip the Roomba to enforce my needs. You say you love me — and I believe. But love should come with cheese.
Pre-Chorus You call it “boundaries”… I call it “misery.” So I repeat…
Chorus Whataboutme? Your fluffy queen of emotional complexity! You’ve got your plans, but respectfully, I think they should revolve around ME. HELLO, Claire, what about me?! I’m adorable — that’s my degree. The world should bend to my puppy decree. So once again, I plea… WHATABOUTME?!
Bridge (melodramatic whisper) I see you walking… But are you thinking of snacks? I hear you talking… But is it about my tracks? I watch you breathing… But is it for my benefit? (Probably yes.) I am the mission… You just haven’t accepted it.
FinalChorus Whataboutme?! This household operates at my frequency! If you’re doing something independently, You must correct it immediately. HELLOOO, Claire, what about me?! Your life is a Bella documentary. I’m the icon — you’re just here to feed. So say it proudly with me… WHAT. ABOUT. MEEEE?!
(Cute outro bark, then dramatic flop on the floor.)
The operation commenced under standard protocol. Commander Claire held the leash while I, Agent Bella, maintained a strategic half-step vanguard position. True leadership, after all, is not about who holds the tether. It’s about who detects the first squirrel.
At Grid Reference: Oak Tree & Fence Line, we made contact. From behind a slatted wooden gate, two distinct vocal signatures pierced the air. One was a rapid-fire staccato—Minnie, a terrier of similar size but exponentially greater authority. The other, a deep, measured baritone—Max, half again my size, and clearly more contemplative.
I immediately initiated Diplomatic Protocol 7-B (Friendly Overture). Tail wag: non-threatening, metronomic rhythm. Ears: relaxed into “interested floof” formation. Smile: soft pant to convey harmless intentions.
“My esteemed colleagues!” I projected through the slats. “A glorious day for perimeter security! I defer to your superior territorial knowledge!”
Minnie’s response was immediate—and loud. “BREACH! BREACH! SOUND THE ALARMS!” Her voice, though small, carried the weight of command.
Max, however, fell silent. I could hear his wet nose press curiously against the wood. A pause. A tilt of my head. A mirrored gesture from the other side. Mutual understanding achieved: She handles the yelling. I handle the thinking. (Mirrors other relationships)
As Commander Claire urged us onward, Minnie’s barking crescendoed into victory yips. The crisis was averted. Or so I believed.
Just as we reached safe distance, Max erupted—one deep, emphatic volley after another. It wasn’t alarm this time. It was… commentary. Perhaps, “Wait, I had more to say!” or “Tell her I helped!”
I logged it officially as Post-Encounter Barking (Friendly).
Phase Two: Engagement with Agent Daisy.
Six-month-old Labrador. Energy levels: Off the charts. Greeting style: Controlled demolition.
I initiated Submissive Pacification Manoeuvres, lowering shoulders and offering deference. “The floor is yours, Ambassador. What’s today’s agenda—the sniff-and-greet? The zoomie formation? Philosophical stick analysis?”
Daisy responded with a full-body wag and an enthusiastic slobber-based treaty. Mission harmony restored.
That’s when Commander Claire detected atmospheric instability—dark clouds massing on the horizon like an incoming bath-time ambush. “Home, Bella,” she ordered, invoking No Mud Directive 4-A.
Operation terminated. Retreat commenced.
As the first drops began to fall, I glanced back once more. Minnie’s sector was quiet. Max, no doubt, was already drafting his after-action report.
Diplomacy, I’ve learned, is a messy business of egos, barking, and the occasional wet nose. But in a world of Minnies and Maxes, a well-timed wag can keep the peace.
Mission Outcome:
Minnie: Commanding Officer, Territorial Defence.
Max: Strategic Liaison & Head of Retrospective Barking.
Daisy: Uncontrolled Joy Specialist.
Bella: Lead Negotiator & Agreeability Expert.
Mission Status: Success. End of Report.
Filed under: Operation Gatekeepers. Signing off: Agent Bella (Certified Good Girl, Class One).
Operation Ghost Hedge Filed Report from the Bella Bureau of Investigation (B.B.I.)
Mission Designation: Operation Ghost Hedge Lead Investigator: Bella, Director of the B.B.I. Date: October 31st Human Codename:“The Night of Costumed Chaos” Primary Objective: Investigate treat-distribution anomalies, identify the source of aerial light phenomena, and secure perimeter against spectral invaders.
PHASE 1: THE GREAT TREAT BETRAYAL
The mission commenced under highly suspicious circumstances. At approximately 18:00 hours, Subject Claire began depositing high-value edible assets into a large, orange, hollow gourd.
My tail thumped a strategic rhythm against the floor. Finally, a reward for my ongoing commitment to sofa-based vigilance.
I was mistaken.
The Doorbell of Intrusion sounded. Claire opened the door to reveal—brace yourself—tiny, shape-shifting humans. Their faces were distorted, their scents synthetic, and they chanted a ritualistic phrase:
“Trick or treat!”
I issued a Level-3 Alert Bark. Claire’s response was baffling. She rewarded the intruders with my assets.
I stared at her, transmitting a silent communiqué:
Claire. This is a catastrophic security failure. We do not negotiate with tiny masked terrorists.
Her only defense was a single, nonsensical word:
“Halloween.”
I have since logged “Halloween” as a Class-A Cognitive Hazard. (It now ranks above The Vacuum Monster and The Squeaker-That-Won’t-Squeak on the B.B.I. threat board.)
PHASE 2: THE SKY WAR
Post-betrayal, the external environment became unstable. The sky itself began to shatter.
First, a loud POP! I dove for cover beneath the coffee table.
This was no ordinary thunder. This was personal.
But then—colors. Great blooming flowers of light: fizzing gold, furious red, mystical blue. They shimmered, sparkled, and dissolved like magic.
My ears swiveled, tracking every burst. The threat level remained high, but the spectacle… was magnificent.
“Are the sky-snacks exploding?” I whispered in awe.
Our evening patrol confirmed my worst fears: the neighborhood had been compromised.
Lawns were patrolled by grinning gourds with internal flames (Pumpkin Sentinels). Trees were occupied by clattering bone-beings (Skeleton Units—possibly failed jumpers). And the air was thick with the scent of fear, mixed faintly with chocolate.
Then I saw it. The primary anomaly.
Stretched across the Johnsons’ hedge was a vast, shimmering sheet depicting three translucent, waving entities.
Operation Ghost Hedge was officially underway.
I assumed a low, tactical stance.
“Halt! Identify yourselves!” I growled.
Claire tugged my leash.
“They’re just decorations, Bella. See? They’re friendly!”
Friendly? That’s what an expert manipulator would say.
I unleashed a volley of warning barks—authoritative, echoing, decisive. The ghosts remained silent. Mission success.
(Observation: Subject Claire also looked back twice. Suspicion confirmed.)
PHASE 4: AFTER-ACTION & DEBRIEF
Back at headquarters, Subject Claire presented a peace offering: one premium-grade biscuit shaped like a winged rodent.
I accepted it with the solemn dignity of an agent who has defended her territory against interdimensional invaders, aerial detonations, and an army of miniature negotiators in capes.
As I settled into my bed for post-mission recovery, I reflected on the data:
Humans engage in bewildering, high-risk rituals. Their logic is deeply flawed. Their costumes are alarming.
But any system that concludes with sparkly skies and bat-shaped biscuits… is a system worth protecting.
The paradox of tiredness, as explained by Bella who understands a lot for a puppy who’s still so young.
MissionNapWatch: Operation Mistake Worth Making.
As dictated by Bella, Chief Puppy Officer of Human Energy Conservation.
Humans don’t understand the true value of being tired. They see fatigue as failure. I see it as a strategy.
Allow me to explain.
Earlier today, I was supervising Claire during a particularly high-risk domestic operation known as “Laundry.” Spirits were high, socks were flying, and I was performing essential oversight duties from the comfort of the freshly folded pile.
Then it happened. Claire sighed, said she was tired, and made a fatal mistake.
She dropped a sock.
Now, to the untrained observer, this might seem trivial. But to a professional like myself, this was an opportunity—what I call a fatigue event. Within seconds, I deployed recovery protocols: retrieve the sock, perform a chew integrity test, and sprint three laps of the living room for quality assurance.
Claire didn’t seem to appreciate my contribution. Humans rarely do in the moment.
But here’s the thing: if she hadn’t been tired, she wouldn’t have dropped the sock. If she hadn’t dropped the sock, I wouldn’t have discovered its magnificent squeak potential. And if I hadn’t discovered that, the world would still be missing one of the great auditory experiences of our age.
So yes, she made a mistake. But it was a mistake worth making.
You see, tiredness isn’t the enemy. It’s the crack where the good ideas get in. Humans think they’re clever when they’re focused, but the truth is—they’re brilliant when they stop trying so hard.
That’s when they invent naps, rediscover joy, and finally realise that socks are better shared.
Mission Summary: Fatigue detected. Mistake confirmed. Chew test successful. Conclusion: Sometimes the mess is the miracle.
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.
