Why My Dog is Now the CEO of My House

 

Let me tell you how I lost control of my household to a 12-pound furball named Mr. Pickles.

It all started innocently enough. A treat here, a belly rub there. Next thing I knew, he was sitting on my pillow like a tiny, judgmental lion surveying his kingdom. I tried to assert dominance by teaching him tricks. He responded by teaching me tricks. I now roll over every time he barks at 3 a.m. because, apparently, that’s the only acceptable time for a walk.

He refuses to eat unless his food is garnished with shredded cheese. My dinner? Cold leftovers. He has three beds—one in every room. I sleep on the couch now. He also has more followers on Instagram than I do. His last post? A blurry photo of his butt. It got 3,000 likes. I posted a selfie. My mom liked it out of pity.

Last week, a package arrived. It was a tiny business suit. He wore it, looked me in the eyes, and barked once. I knew what it meant. He was ready for the boardroom. I’m not sure what company he’s running, but the stock price of “Walkies & Treats, Inc.” is through the roof.

So yes, Mr. Pickles is now the CEO of my house. I’m just an unpaid intern who scoops poop and supplies cheese. But hey, at least he lets me stay… for now.