Sick Day (from the dog's pov)

7:45am: After our bay walk, the girl kissed me on the head and dashed out the door as usual. I mentally prepared for a day of napping and casually shredding various low hanging items around the house, when I noticed the guy is still in bed. He's going to be late again. Tisk tisk.

8:35am: Still home. Normally, this time of day he would be scrambling around, trying to shave and get dressed at the same time, but he's not. He's just standing in his underwear, staring at a potted plant and sniffling. He looks like fried hell.

8:48am: Back in bed, but now the tv is on and he appears to be watching a show about a sponge with special pants.

9:32am: He's now opened and closed the refrigerator at least 47 times without removing a single item. I am starting to believe he's doing it to me on purpose. Underwear continues to be the preferred attire

10:45am: Finally some action. A giant truck with SDGE written on the side tried to attack our patio fence. Luckily I was there to scare them off, but my victory went grossly unrewarded as I was thrown back into the house with a string of obscenities. A true hero needs no gratitude.

11:37am: After popping some more pellets from a little bottle, he's now standing in the center of the livingroom, watching a show about an intolerant woman named Judy. I don't think he's aware that he's humming. The vestments have been upgraded to include a sock with a hole in it and a ski beanie.

12:02pm: The trips to the fridge have finally started paying off. I scored a piece of hotdog, an unidentified crunchy substance and a pickle stem. Maybe we can turn this thing around.

1:15pm: The battle for couch space has created a rift in our mid-day camaraderie. I suspect he thinks evening couch rules apply during the day as well. Silly man. I laid on my side and kicked him for a while, then sat on his head until he moved to the futon. Smell ya later, Pig Flu.

2:09pm: The guitar sounded good until he attempted to sing and sent himself into a gran mal coughing seizure, which of course triggered several violent salvos of machine-gun sneezes. I was front row, so i think we're about squared up for all the slobbering i've ever done on him.

3:19pm: The sponge is back on and now we're snacking on something he recovered from the back of the cupboard. It tastes a little like the tennis ball i found at the bay this morning.

3:46: I think... is that? ...*

*editor's note; unable to complete entry as the female resident returned and the subject apparently went completely insane