You're not the boss of me

My sister is not the worst dog in the world, but she has some annoying habits. She thinks she can tell me what to do and she even tries to herd me around. She's part dingo or something. I'm not going to tell you her name because she thinks the internet is boring and she's too Zen to care about blogging. It's funny, she answers to a few different names anyway. This is because she came from a dubious and scattered background. At first I thought that was real shady, but then I found out she had a not-good life as a puppy and ended up in a shelter.

When the humans brought her home, I hated her immediately. I barked ferociously at this four-legged intrusion. Was I going to have to share my food? Was this dumb dog going to take attention away from me? Was my smug little world about to be shaken? I remember waking up the next morning. What? She's still here?

She likes me; I tolerate her.

Poor doggy. She didn't even know how to play with toys. We gave her those chicken things that you bite, and those vegetable things that you bite. Booda-somethings. Then after a few weeks of gnawing on those, I let her share my Nylabones. Now we spend some time chewing on "virtually indestructible" Nylabones everyday. Our humans call it "the bone factory." We have the strongest jaws in town from all that exercise. As bad as our bark is, our bite is even worse, so watch it, suckers!

She's a pretty good dog, after all. Way more well-behaved than me. I don't mind if she bosses me around sometimes. I know I'm still the prince of the universe.