March 03 --- Sir William

Holiday: If Pets Had Thumbs Day

Imagination creates reality. - Richard Wagner

"C'mon, Billy! Time for a walkie!"

He glanced at The Man and the strange jacket and closed his eyes. Not now. Time to be in the lap of Morpheus.

"C'mon, Billy! Come on!"

He grumpily opened his eyes and looked up again. The Man stood there, eagerly waiting.

So pathetic.

"Please. If you must interrupt my sleep, at least call me by my proper name."

It startled The Man.


He sighed. "The name is Sir William. I would appreciate it if you would remember that in the future."

He waited, knowing that this conversation was not over.

"Sir - Sir William?"


"Um, how come you never told me that before?"

"I'm quite sure I have, otherwise how would you have come up with that demeaning derivative?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure."

Sir William closed his eyes yet again, hoping the matter of his name - and that ghastly 'walkie' - had also been put to rest.

"I didn't realize you'd be insulted, y'know. I just... well, I like 'Billy'. It's... fun."

"For you, perhaps. But quite insulting for one of my lineage."

"Your lineage?"

"Of course. I'll have you know I can trace my family's roots back at least as far as Red Brucie."

"Red Brucie?"

"Must you keep repeating me? It's really quite tedious."

"Oh, sorry, Bil - uh, Sir William. But who was Red Brucie?"

"Oh, my Lord. Red Brucie was only considered to be the father of the modern cocker spaniel. He sired thirty-five champions. Thirty-five!"

"Wow. But, uh, you're not a cocker spaniel."

Sir William sat up stonily. "Well, of course I am! Just look at my fine coat and bearing!"

The Man sighed. "Sorry, Billy, but you're not. I hate to tell you, but you're just a normal, run-of-the-mill mutt." Shaking his head, The Man left the room.

"So I'm a 'run-of-the-mill mutt', am I?" Sir William snorted and lay back down. "As if I should believe someone who thinks he's the Range Rider!"