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Dear Diary, Today was a magical day. A glorious day. A day future generations of dogs will speak about around water bowls for years to come. Mom and Dad did not get out of bed until almost noon. I know. I can barely believe it myself. The morning started perfectly. I secured my ideal sleeping position right between Mom and Dad under the blankets. This is strategic real estate. It provides…

There is something special about a Wisconsin summer weekend. The smell of slow-smoked barbecue drifts through the air, live music echoes across the fairgrounds, and friends, families, and neighbors come together to celebrate. That is exactly what Ribfest in Elkhorn is all about. This year, #OneToadPhotography had the opportunity to spend some time at the event, capturing the sights, sounds, and…

Dear Diary, I have become aware that some members of this household believe I am “overprotective” of Dad. I would like to officially state that these accusations are completely unfair. I am not overprotective. I am simply protecting what belongs to me. And Dad belongs to me. This is a completely normal arrangement. Every morning I make sure Dad is properly supervised. If Dad sits down, I…

Dear Diary, Apparently I have been receiving complaints. According to Dad, Arya, Willow, the cats, several neighbors, and possibly local air traffic control, I have been barking “a little too much.” First of all, I’d like to say that these accusations are wildly exaggerated. Second of all, if they aren’t exaggerated, I have very good reasons. For example, this morning Dad came…

Dear Diary, I am deeply concerned about Dad. Not because he’s sick. Not because he’s injured. But because I recently learned that he voluntarily goes to a place every day that appears to be approximately one hundred and fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. I have seen photographic evidence. There is a thermometer. The thermometer does not lie. The thermometer says Dad works inside a giant…

Dear Diary, I am deeply concerned about Dad. Not because he’s sick. Not because he’s injured. But because I recently learned that he voluntarily goes to a place every day that appears to be approximately one hundred and fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. I have seen photographic evidence. There is a thermometer. The thermometer does not lie. The thermometer says Dad works inside a giant…

Dear Diary, I am reaching my limit. The conditions around here have become unacceptable, and if they do not improve immediately, I will be forced to begin filing official complaints. I am not sure who receives dog complaints. Maybe Dad. Maybe the Neighborhood Association. Maybe the United Nations. But somebody needs to hear about this. First of all… IT IS TOO HOT TO WALK. How is that…

Dear Diary, I need answers. There is a giant bowl of bubbling water in our backyard, and absolutely nobody will explain it to me. The humans call it a hot tub. I call it The Forbidden Soup. Every evening Dad goes outside, lifts the cover, and climbs into this mysterious steaming puddle like it’s completely normal. Then he sits there. Just sits there. In water. On purpose. For…

Dear Diary, Dad still has not learned. You would think after approximately 4,712 successful seat thefts he would understand the rules. The moment he stands up—whether it’s to get a drink, go to the bathroom, grab a camera, pet a cat, or simply stretch—I activate Operation Seat Heist. The second his butt leaves the chair, I launch. Now, some critics (Arya) claim I move slowly. This is…

By Reggie, Supreme Ruler of the Living Room, Blanket Kingdom, and All Creatures Within Dear Diary, Another exhausting day being the most important member of this household. I began my morning, as usual, by refusing to get out of bed. The humans claim I sleep too much. I claim that supervising naps is a full-time job. Someone has to make sure the blankets remain properly flattened. Willow, on…

Dear Diary, I regret to inform you that summer has become a personal attack. This morning, my humans suggested we go for a walk. A WALK. Outside. On the giant frying pan they call a sidewalk. The concrete was so hot I’m pretty sure it was trying to cook my toes medium rare. I took approximately six steps, looked at Mom, and said with my eyes, “Have you completely lost your mind?” I immediately…