They think I can't chase them away. They think I'm too lazy to move. Maybe they even think I'm dead. Fat chance! I can still swat with the best of them, but why bother? There's enough room for everybody. I wish they didn't buzz so close to my ears, though. I'm a little sensitive about my ears.

That's the trouble with everybody these days. Always running, always in a hurry, always busy. Nobody takes time to enjoy simple things anymore - a quiet humming of a floor fan, a smell of hearty stew cooked in the neighbor's house. Humans...

Not that I wasn't a virile dog once. Oh, I was quite a hound in my time. All the females in the neighborhood knew it. But genug iz genug. I know when to quit. It's not proper for a mature dog like me to run about, chasing girls. There is a time to mate and a time to contemplate.

Az och un vey! Quite an experience I had in the last few days. Yes. Quite an experience. It all started with that mentsh my master brought home several days ago. He seemed an all right fella at first. Talked funny, though; I didn't quite understand him. I don't think my master did, either. He wore clothes that once smelled of lamb. I like lambs. If only that guy didn't use so much cologne. Why do humans need to wear something other than their own wonderful smells? My master used to wear cologne, too, but he stopped long ago. I think he realized I didn't like it.

Anyway, where was I? Ah. That fella my master brought home. What do you know? He came back later, all by himself. He wanted me to walk. Walk? Why? I had nowhere to be. I liked it where I was. But no, he even tried to shlep me on the floor like a rag. Young people these days! If he needed to move me elsewhere, he should have thought of a better way to do it. Finally, he came to his senses and showed some respect by carrying me to my master's car. Still, not before some shlemiel walked in and stepped on me. Poor shlemazel! First, he hit his head because he wasn't looking where he was going and later, my master hit him with a water bowl at my new apartment. Humans have strange ways of greeting one another.

I didn't like the new place at first. It wasn't bad, just new. I had my own chair at home - with a nice cozy hole just perfect for my body. The hole hadn't always been there, but at least it's been like that for years. The new chair was nice, but too springy and too slippery. I think my master called it "silk." I think the guy who lived there could have bought a lot of T-bones instead of that "silk." Not that he didn't feed me, but I didn't like that thing he called "puppy chow." Where did he see a puppy anyway? Do I look like a puppy? No respect, I tell you. These young know-it-alls have no respect for age and experience. I hope he found something better to feed my master. It smelled like he did, but even with my expertise in the sniffing department, I couldn't figure out what they ate. Still, at home, my master always feeds me the same food he eats. I never complain, even though I've been eating too much kashi lately. It doesn't taste the same as a good soup bone.

Another thing bothered me about that place. I wasn't the first dog there. Some Yorkie had been there before. Probably came with some shikse to visit the guy who brought me there and had to wait in that same chair while the humans were mating in the other room, poor thing.

It must have been long ago, though. The smell had almost vanished. Maybe that's what the mentsh's problem was. I recognized that look in his eyes. I even had it once myself when a certain beagle wiggled her toches past my porch everyday, then chose the neighbor's shepherd over me. Az och un vey! Touch luck! I was better off with that cute half-bread poodle and the sheltie that lived at the butcher's, anyway. But humans tend to concentrate on one female sometimes.

Still, other than the Yorkie's smell, the place wasn't too bad. There even were a couple of trees there. Not great, but - trees. I was glad at first; a dog needs trees. I wanted to mark them but my master got very angry with me. He said good dogs didn't do "such things" in "apartments." Good dogs! Oy vey! I don't know what an "apartment" is, but one should think an old man like him would know how good dogs mark their territory. Why could the shikse's dog do it, anyway? Humans... There should be laws against such discrimination.

No, I didn't like the new place on the long run. Too much light to sleep. Too much noise. Humans coming and going at all the times, talking, arguing. Not only my master and the mentsh; the shlemazel who had stepped on me was there as well and so was some bubele. I'd seen both at my old place, but they hadn't bothered me then. She seemed all right, though; made that guy put away the stick he was carrying. A biseleh skinny for my tastes, but humans don't appreciate a good piece of meat on a girl's bones. If only she didn't smell of a cat. Oy! But she had those two wrapped up around her little claw, I'll give her that. Even my master respected her; he let her and the mentsh do all the talking and then they all left. I took a nap after all that excitement and then they came back even more excited and my master told me we could finally go home. Danken Got! Of course, they had to carry me to the car again. I didn't ask them to bring me there in the first place, so why should I walk back?

Now we're back to our old place. It feels nice. My own chair with my own cozy hole, my own food, same as my master's, and even from my own bowl. Small things I hadn't noticed until they were gone. And all the excitement is behind; plenty of time to think.

Halevei! I'm not sure about it, though. I'm not sure about anything anymore. My master is now talking about moving to "Tampa." Tampa-shmampa. An old man should have some dignity. What is the difference between that place and any other place? What can he do there that he can't do at home?

My master says he has a grandson there. He calls him a shtik naches. He says I'll have a lot of fun playing with him. Playing? What is he thinking? Humans. I have a lot of grandchildren, but I don't run after them. They have grandchildren, but they don't run after them, either.

I think my master knows I'm not too excited about that trip to Tampa. He says I'll go there in a "deluxe compartment." Something tells me he means that big black duffel bag he bought two days ago. If he thinks he can put me into it, he must be out of his mind. Meshuga!

We'll see. My master is used to me. He doesn't like to be alone. A man like him needs somebody around and I'm too old to change masters. Maybe that "Tampa" shtetl is not the end of the world. If humans live there, so can dogs.

The End