Filed: Sunday
Location: Westin → Guitar Store Lot → Petsmart → Irby’s
Handler: “The Spare”
Subject: C. Dawg (a.k.a. “Coal”, a.k.a. “Sir Sleeps-A-Lot”)

0800 Hours: (why are we awake?)
     The Spare stirs.
     I stretch, yawn, and roll over.
     He says, “C’mon, buddy.”
     I say, “Five more minutes.”
     He says, “We have plans.”
     I say, “I’m not a morning dog.”
     He says, “You are today.”
     I say, “Fine.”

0805:
     Motor lobby recon.
     Mission: Coffee acquisition and morning walk.
     Status:  Highly social.
              Six pets,
              two kisses,
              a head scritch,
              three unsolicited compliments.

Someone calls me “distinguished.”
Spare tries to claim credit. Denied.

One guy offers to get me some bacon.
The Spare declines. Mistakes logged.

0815:
     Quick circuit around the hotel.
     Sidewalk damp, air thick with promise.

0830:
     Back in the strangly shaped room.
     Spare jumps into a rainstorm, (why?)

     I jump on the bed, sleep is my true calling.

0945:
     Wake-up stretch: *front paws, tail twitch, upward dog, full yawwwwn*.
     I pretend I’m still asleep so the Spare feels guilty. It works.

1000:
     March ensues. (doesn’t uber run this early?)
     Oh well, Spare walks, I strut.
     Lifted leg **three times.**
     Normally a stand-and-stream kinda guy,
     but something in the air said:

     _“Mark it like you mean it.”_

Spare nods with pride.
I pretend it’s no big deal.

1020
     Route: through Guitar Store lot.
     Paused by yellow flowers that smelled like everything sweet and good.

     Spare says, “honeysuckle.”
     I say, “you just made that up.”
     He swears it’s real.
     I huff it again. It’s definitely made of magic.

1030:
     Petsmart arrival. (Part II)
     Mission: Reinforcements. (that pig’s grunt? removed in 4 minutes)
     I select a pink snuffy pig with soulful eyes and an irresistible squeak.

     Spare vetoes me.
     Says, “no more easy squeakers.”
     (Translation: “I can’t take another surgical extraction.”)

Instead, I’m issued:
  - One Kevlar-grade orange monster (no name yet, open to suggestions)
  - A large peanut butter-flavored Kong (name: Yummy)
  - A pair of beef bones (stashed for later)
  - One entire beef trachea. (glorious)

1045:
     Exit Petsmart.
     Find **The Spot.**
     Smells like freedom, summer, and forbidden chicken nuggets.

     Drop straight to the grass.
     Roll like joy has a face.
     Rub my snout until I forget time exists.

Spare stands awkwardly, lets it happen.
      I check his expression: He gets it.

1050: (yes, I spent 5 minutes in *The Spot*)
     Route back.
     Pass Sylvan without hesitation.
     No lookbacks. Only forward.

1100:
     Irby’s unlocked.
     Bar preps underway.
     Brit pours the Spare a Bloody.

     I march to my fuzzy blanket like a man with purpose.

1102:
     Deploy new orange monster.
     (Immediately suspicious of its confidence.)

     Not quite pig... not quite invincible. Time will tell.

1105:
     Kong filled.
     Peanut butter laced with intention.

     Begin calculated extraction.

1110:
     Trachea deployed.
     Engaged with full jaw capacity.

     Noise level: Jurassic.

1112:
     Griff sighting.
     Button-down flapping in the breeze like he owns the place.
     He probably does.

     Mentions “Chelsea” and “VAR” and “matchday.” I nod respectfully.

1125:
     Jake arrives. Asks if I play tennis.
     I do not.
     I do, however, appreciate bouncing objects.

     He waters down his drink. I judge silently.

1129:
     Doug appears.
     Shirt mostly buttoned. (mostly)
     Energy: unhinged pelican.

     He gives me a side-eye and a wink. I wink back. Chaos respects chaos.

1130–1230:
     Brunch humans arrive.
     Patio now filled with dogs named “Murphy,” “Stella,” and “Tito.”
     One of them thinks I’m a labradoodle.

     Spare properly corrects her.

1230:
     Blanket, toy, chew, breeze.
     My tail settles into a slow wag.
     The Spare sighs. Opens laptop.
     He’s working on something.
     I can tell because his brow furrows like he’s solving world peace.

     I pretend to nap.

     But really?

     I’m watching him write rambling #250. From here.
     If this one’s gonna be epic, he'll need me.

     Right beside him.

— End of Report —
Prepared by: C. Dawg
Title: Senior Analyst, Bark Sector
Specialization: Smell-Based Reconnaissance / Charming Humans / Snuggle Ops