The Burden of Leadership

Dear Diary,

Today was a day of leadership.

I began, as all great rulers do, with a nap. The cubby was warm, the blanket was just so, and the world was quiet. I slept the sleep of someone with no worries and a very full schedule of supervising.

When I woke, I did what I always do: I surveyed my domain. From the cubby I can see the whole living room, the hallway, a portion of the kitchen, and the window where the squirrel sometimes appears. Everything was in order. The couch was where I left it. The rug had not moved. The human was in her usual spot, doing whatever it is she does with that glowing rectangle. I gave her a long look, and she said “what?” I said nothing. A queen does not explain herself.

Then I heard it. The sound of a bowl being filled.

Kodi’s dinner.

He was already there, of course, tail wagging, tongue out, looking like a cloud that had learned to be excited about kibble. He dove in headfirst, eating with the grace of a vacuum cleaner that had never once been told to slow down. Crumbs flew. A piece landed on his ear. He did not notice.

I rose from the cubby. I stretched. I walked across the floor with my head high and my tail curled, taking my time, because a monarch does not hurry.

I reached the bowl. Kodi looked up at me, cheeks full, eyes wide, with the expression of a dog who has just realized something is about to happen and cannot work out what.

I did not ask. I did not wait. I simply put my shoulder against his and leaned.

He moved. Of course he moved. He is a husky, which means he has a big heart and the self-preservation instincts of a houseplant. He slid sideways with a confused little “woof” and stood there blinking while I lowered my head into his bowl and began to eat.

It was excellent. Slightly better than my own dinner, which I still suspect is a conspiracy.

Kodi watched me for a moment, tilted his head, and then wagged his tail. He was happy for me. He sat down next to the bowl and watched me eat his food like it was the best show he had ever seen. I do not understand him. I do not think I am supposed to.

The human looked up and said, “Emi, leave him some!” I paused, looked at her, and took one more bite on purpose. Then I stepped back, licked my lips, and let Kodi finish what was left. That is called generosity. I expect it to be remembered.

I returned to the cubby, circled twice, and lay down. My tummy was full. My domain was secure. My subjects were fed, mostly by me.

Kodi is still staring at his empty bowl, as if it might refill itself if he waits long enough. I admire his optimism.

Goodnight, Diary.

- Emi, Sovereign of the Cubby and Collector of Husky Dinners

P.S. I left him exactly four pieces. That is a gift. He should be thanking me.