My name is Taz, and this is the story of my retirement from active duty to civilian life as a service dog. My hashtag is #tazoteausmc and this Day 8.
Everything has gone horribly wrong. I have been falsely accused and convicted. I cannot believe this is what my once purposeful life has become.
First, I did not have sex with that cat. He’s a psychotic, lying ball of fur. I demand a full investigation. And I think that other delusional orange furry terrorist planned the whole thing to get me in trouble. The one they call Cheeto is very, very dangerous. He may look cute and cuddly, but he is evil. His soul is dark. Also, he pees on things. It’s very confusing.
Last night, I was patrolling the house while the humans slept, and when I checked the kitchen, the one called Ned jumped off the refrigerator and tried to kill me in the dark.
I escaped injury because I am a highly trained operator, and he’s a moron. He knocked two metal pans off the counter because the attack was so poorly planned and he’s inept at close quarters combat, and he yowled when he fell and then everyone woke up. I swear, I was just standing there watching his spectacle. Food lady was very annoyed and told all of us to get along and go to sleep, and the small human called me a “despicable sex offender” and took the “victim” into the bedroom and locked ME out.
I laid outside of food lady’s door until 0530, when it was time for morning PT. I couldn’t open the door myself, and she didn’t get up when I scratched on it. I got worried, so I started whining. Actually, howling. Loud. Really loud.
Okay, I howled like a wolf lost in the middle of a forest in Bavaria at the top of my lungs.
She came out and yelled something, and I howled back because once you start howling it feels really good, so she yelled more, which woke up the screaming, shrieking, feathered thing, and right when food lady said she “wasn’t going to have an argument with a demented dog at the buttcrack of dawn,” I heard the pounding on the door. So I started barking. A lot.
Food lady went and talked to the neighbors I woke up and said sorry. I sat there like she said, but I gave them the death stare. Like we all shouldn’t be up working. Why is she sorry? I’m HELPING. That guy should have thanked me for waking him up so he can get to work. Why don’t they understand?
She finally took me out for my morning perimeter check (all clear), and my friend at the coffee shop I SAVED last week saw me and gave me a croissant. It was okay, but I smelled bacon. Do I look like a vegetarian? Is this how you thank me for finding a baby shoe bomb?
The smaller human refused to take a shower, so I did what any good soldier would do. I held him down and washed him. Also, he’ll be easier to find if he gets lost now that he smells like me.
We’re going O-U-T soon, and food lady says I’d better behave. I AM behaving. She’s not. Training her is taking longer than I expected. She’s not very bright. She says she needs to learn my commands better; I think she should just obey them.
Food lady said I did a good job and gave me a treat called a taco. It was way better than bacon. I want more taco. I want all the tacos. Now.
— Excerpt from the Diary of Taz, a Retired Military Service Dog
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