Bandit: The Misunderstood Guardian
I smelled you coming before you even turned the page. Hello, I’m Bandit — a mostly good boy with a big ol’ hound sound. Neighbors know my voice, and I use it proudly to protect Mom and my domain. The world doesn’t always “get” me, but tucked under these long ears and behind my mask is a fearless protector who also cuddles like a king.
I was born to be a deer dog, but rumor has it I didn’t have the right “tongue.” My sniffer is top of the class, but I wasn’t cut out for the chaos of barking and chasing through the woods. Lucky for me, I was fired and reassigned. Instead of a concrete kennel, I landed on my own couch — on an island, no less. That’s why I’m a lucky dog.
My days start at the sliding door, scanning the neighborhood like a four-legged detective. Once the leash — a.k.a. my ticket to excitement — snaps on, we’re off. Mom keeps me tethered since my nose has been known to hijack my brain. One whiff and I’m gone, chasing scents like breaking news. I’m not a ball-chasing dog — I’m a dog-chasing dog. My afternoon playdates with Lilly and Sammy are my highlight reel. As for the beach, I don’t swim, but I’ll saunter just far enough to wet my socks before retreating to the dunes.
Food is another story. My mom’s sister nicknamed me “Hillshire” thanks to my sausage obsession. Leave meat on the counter and it’s basically an open invitation. A nibble becomes a bite, and a bite becomes … well, no meat left. What meat? You never had meat. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Car rides? My jam. If Mom leaves without me, I’ll bark until she reconsiders. In my younger days I gave myself motion sickness — looking left, right, left, right — until I threw up. We powered through, though, and now I’m a seasoned road warrior. Training classes? Forget cookies. My currency is cheese. Honestly, our entire household’s love language is cheddar.
What makes me truly lucky is Mom herself. She used to be a cat person, but now she’s a Bandit person (don’t tell the cat — she has claws and she’s not afraid to use them). Beneath my loud bark and serious demeanor is a snuggle bunny who melts into Mom’s side every chance I get. She’s the beating of my heart, and I dare you to test that bond.
So yeah, maybe I’m misunderstood. Maybe I’m a little loud, a little nose-driven, a little sausage-obsessed. But I’ve got the best gig in the world: an island to patrol, a mom to protect, cheese in the fridge and a couch with my name on it. That’s the good life. That’s my lucky dog life.