Hunter is my little puppy dog. And, King of the Jungle. The wildlife around here and the UPS guy have other names for him. But. You see. He is part chow. So. Hunter was not always a king. He used to be a duke. Then he was a knight. And for a long time he was just a dick. Although his newest title is quite impressive, it is not an easy one to uphold. Hunter is always on duty. Except when he naps. Like right now. It is nine-thirty AM. His highness is sprawled out on the floor about two feet behind me. He is snoring. So, I have to be careful not to roll back on my chair and disturb him. He has already had a full morning with a hectic schedule. Spring is a particularly busy season for kings of jungles. You have to make sure your neighborhood doesn't go to hell, what with all the different critters showing up on your doorstep after a long, cold, winter. If you don't keep your eyes open, you could end up with a family of moles under your front lawn. Or worse yet, ducks swimming around in your private pond. And for sure you will have squirrels hanging upside down from your bird feeders. This is all very infuriating to kings. The moon has also been on the full side of things lately. And lunar shit always brings out the coyotes. And coyotes like to stand out there in the dark of the night to howl at it. But they do not howl at the moon in Hunter's jungle. Never. They have to stay on the other side of the line. That is why he is so sleepy this morning. Last night I had to get out of bed and come downstairs to lure the old king off his throne and into the castle with the end of a bratwurst. And yet he was back out barking again this morning before the sun or his mother were even up. When he came in for a late breakfast made for a king, he had an unexplained muddy paw. Just the one. I have learned not to ask questions. Kings do not disclose information they don't feel like disclosing. So. I am just happy it wasn't his entire royal ass. Like yesterday. "And yesterday," according to my sweet Sven, "Hunter walked right past me with a possum in his mouth." "What?" I said. "He walked by with a possum." Hunter does not prefer to have possums residing in his jungle. Hunter is not a fan of anybody living in his jungle. He wants his jungle to be empty. Which makes a person wonder. If a jungle is devoid of all wildlife, is it still a jungle? And if it is not a jungle. Are you still a king? Well. Power is power. And like so many with power. Hunter is no exception. He is a jerk. But here are some facts that people do not know about these no nonsense kings of jungles, slash rulers of the world. They will not eat peas. Not even one pea. They do not care for hot sauce. Garlic flavored hummus is not their bag. They are not partial to catsup. They will turn their nose in the air to mustard. Hamburger is best as is, cooked or not. They will sulk if you do not play tug-o-war. They prefer memory foam over a generic brand. Dollar General dog treats are for peasants only. They love a good old fashioned porcelain bowl of freshly flushed, cold, water. And they are afraid of the dark. Not the dark of night kind of dark, filled with packs of hungry coyotes who would like nothing better than to rip barking kings of jungles apart. No. They are afraid of unlit bathrooms. And they are easily annoyed with life's little inconveniences. That is why Sven and I always leave the light on. And the seat up. SSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Please. Do not disturb his majesty right now.