The Dog Watches Me Watch a Playoff Baseball Game

A live-blog from the ACBN's editorial intern

Note: I took the night off from writing so that I could focus on watching my beloved Cleveland Guardians play in Game 1 of the American League Championship Series against the vile and detestable New York Yankees.

Not wanting to shirk my duty to deliver a newsletter to you, I handed over editorial access to an intern—Olaf, my rescue Husky mix.

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Oh, boy. It’s my favorite time of the night! The smaller, louder people have gone to bed, and now the larger, tired people are going to watch their picture screen. I always find this time of night very relaxing. There’s much less of the running around and yelling, and more snacks and blankets.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good run-around-and-yell, but there’s a time and a place. Like when that truck brings boxes to the door. But I digress. This is a peaceful time of night, and I can usually get up on the couch with them if I play my cards right.

It looks like he’s watching the show with the balls and sticks. I like this show. Very soothing background noises, not like those shows the small people watch.

He’s even got a special shirt he wears when he watches this show!

I like that. Routines are good. Dogs are creatures of routine.

He seems mad already, though.

I’ll be honest, I’m not great at picking up everything he says. He talks a lot, and most of it’s beyond me. They say the average dog understands around 150 words, and I try to focus on the ones that matter most to me—walk, hungry, treat, bedtime. I’ve picked up a few tricks, too—shake, sit, lay down—y’know, the crowd-pleasers, the ones they use to show their friends what a good smart boy I am.

He’s using some of the other words right now.

I recognize some of these from when I ate that package of dinner rolls off the counter.

(In my defense, I thought they were for everyone.)

Didn’t he want to watch this?

I don’t really understand what’s going on.

I’ve seen them play this game in the backyard before, but the little people get mad when I tackle them and I get sent inside before I can pick up the nuances.

(Still, it’s fun if you can grab the ball and run away with it.)

I prefer tug-of-war, though. It’s a purer game. Rewards the classic sporting values. Determination. Grit. Stick-to-it-iveness. Having a low center of gravity. I’m great at that game, and you can play it with anything—a rope toy, a big stick, a ponytail—it’s really versatile.

He’s standing up now.

Should I stand up too?

I’ll stand up too. Show moral support.

We’re pacing. We’re pacing.

We’re sitting back down.

He’s saying more of those other words. He’s quieter, but somehow also angrier?

I think I’ll go outside for a bit.

I guess I’ll never fully understand people. Why do they watch things that make them angry by choice? The things that make me angry are out of my control. Fireworks. Leaf blowers. That smug outdoor cat. Every man that I don’t know. I know this about myself, though, and I don’t choose to sit down and watch those things.

Wait, there’s that cat right now—

I TOLD YOU NEVER TO COME AROUND HERE THIS IS MY LAND GET OFF MY LAND YOU ARE BAD AND I DON’T LIKE YOU AND IF I EVER GET OVER THIS FENCE YOU ARE IN TROUBLE

Hey look he wants me to come back inside now

HOLD ON I JUST HAVE TO TELL THIS CAT A FEW MORE THINGS

Oh he’s offering me a treat to come in now

THIS ISN’T OVER BETWEEN US, OUTDOOR CAT

(I like treats. I must be doing a good job out here.)

I wonder if this means things are going better in his show now?

Hmm.

He’s wearing a different shirt than he was before.

He still doesn’t look happy.

The other person appears to have gone to bed.

Also, I think he’s rearranged the living room?

I feel like I should do something here. It’s sort of my job to keep these people happy. Well, one of my jobs. I’ve got a few—I defend the house from its many enemies, such as the truck with the boxes, squirrels, thunder and small people in costumes.

(That last one only seems to happen once a year, but it’s work that night.)

I do take my job as household vibes-keeper seriously, though, and the vibes right now… well, they’re not great. Maybe I can get him into the kitchen. He’s always happy when he’s in the kitchen.

I’ll go sit by my water bowl and see if he comes in.

(He’s saying more of the words.)

Okay, here he comes.

Honestly, all that yelling at the cat did make me thirsty. Nothing hits quite like a good bowl of water after telling off a cat, I tell you what.

Oh, crap, he’s walking back to the sad room. I’d better stop him.

He’s petting me. That’s good.

He’s opening the fridge. That’s better.

He’s eating pepperoni straight from the package. We’re back in business, baby. If I keep the charm up, I might even get a piece. The people used to be a lot more careful about what they fed me. Then I ate some Easter candy and they freaked out, but I was fine. They looked up some calculator, and he called me “too big to fail”.

I’m pretty sure that’s a compliment.

Okay. we’re going back, but we’re taking the pepperoni bag.

I’m gonna try to keep the charm offensive going. Both for vibes and for pepperoni.

He’s not even really watching the show right now. He’s just sort of scowling and tapping on his little screen, and looking up every couple of minutes to grumble bad words.

WE’RE YELLING BUT IT SEEMS LIKE GOOD YELLING?

no we’re back to scowling

I wonder how long this game goes on. I’ll be a mess tomorrow if I don’t get my full eighteen hours of sleep. I can’t abandon him, though, not in his time of need. I’m just going to go into what I call “active rest” mode—that’s where I relax my body slightly, but keep my mind in a state of hyper-alert focus.

Huh? What happened?

I didn’t fall asleep. I was just meditating, trying to will your team to, uh, do whatever it is they need to do.

Did they do it?

Hey, why are we going for a walk this late at night?

Not that I’m complaining, it’s just unusual…

Oh well. At least there aren’t any more of these games, right?

—Olaf (dictated but not read)