This is a short something I felt like writing. It's from my dog's point of view.
Emma
Maybe this will be the time; maybe she’ll play with me this time, I think. She’s under the table, staring at me with those intense eyes. I can’t tell if it’s an invitation or a warning. All of my previous attempts have failed, so it’s probably a warning, but, come on, she has to play with at some point and time.
I walk over to her, acting as small and unassuming as possible. There are patches of gray fur on the carpet--her fur. This is her spot. One bound and she can be up on a chair, hissing and scratching away at me. But, I’m going to try anyway.
I slow down as I near her. She doesn’t move, just continues to look. I crouch down, so I’m on eye level with her. Tilting my head, I wag my tail and whimper, pleading with those narrow eyes, trying so hard to show my goodwill. Ever so slowly, I crawl forward.
No good.
The cat rears back and whacks me on the nose. Once, twice. Ouch! She flees to the chair and hisses at me. Another defeat. I retreat. It’s over. Why do I never succeed? All I want is to play with her. So what if I’m a dog? I can cuddle with the masters better than she can, I even get to sleep in their bed; she’s doesn’t even like the masters.
Speaking of the masters, there’s one right now. She’s sitting on a chair in the next room, making noise with her hands on that machine. What is so amusing about that thing anyway? How is it better than playing with me and my squeaky toy?
I go up to the master and sit by her chair. I whimper; I groan and growl. She turns and pets my head. That’s better. But soon she turns back to that humming machine. So, I reach up and put my paw on her leg. She laughs, a low, slow sound to my ears, but I know she’s happy. Turning once more, she rubs the bridge of my nose where the cat hit me. It feels really good. Next, she is massaging my droopy ears and scratching under my collar. I can feel my body turning to mush under her caress.
That does it, I’m down. I collapse and stretch out at her feet. The floor vibrates as warm air comes from the floor vent. I can feel the air on the pads of my feet and the fur on my tail. Above us sunlight is pouring through the window. It falls on my face, warming my muzzle, Sleep is coming; I can feel it. I won’t fight it. It’s far too nice to lay here at my master’s feet and dream…

