Fun fact: I’m originally from Virginia. After living my early years in a kennel and having a couple of litters, I was rescued and transported north to freedom. That’s how I came to be in the frozen tundra of Massachusetts. Not really my kind of weather, but my people make up for the climate’s lack of warmth. I discovered two things about my new adoptive home almost immediately:

  1. Massachusetts is birthplace to the American Revolution.
  2. My people love their Patriots!

My people love history and love sharing it. My mom has taken me to Concord and Lexington. I’ve walked on Battle Road. I’ve seen where Paul Revere of midnight joy riding fame was captured. I have visited historical taverns and sniffed around ancient cemeteries. I’ve even explored the ruins of Henry David Thoreau’s cabin in the woods at Walden Pond! My people wanted me to appreciate Massachusetts history and her patriots. And I do!

So when mom told me we were going to watch patriots on Sunday, I was excited! You see, my people have been storming around the house lately claiming freedom was at stake – acting like they were 21st century revolutionaries.  They have been tipping Fireball like it’s a keg of rum, and abandoning Max and I to go to rallies and marches for the past three weekends. I wanted to participate too – I wanted to howl for my rights! Sunday was my chance! I created a special outfit (every stylish revolutionary should be properly attired!). I even started writing a rousing speech:

Give me Liberty or give me whatever you have leftover I’m not fussy!!!”

I was going to be a Patriot! My people started making plans too. It included clam chowder and lobster cakes. Apparently we were going to be well fed. They debated when we would eat – before the start or in the middle. I wasn’t sure where we were going to see the patriots but when I heard them mention the bedroom, I knew something was wrong. I was confused. I couldn’t imagine lots of people yelling and screaming in our bedroom. And I certainly wasn’t giving up my space in the bed! When mom pulled out her Patriot outfit I knew I had misunderstood. They weren’t going to scream for their rights this weekend, they were going to scream for touchdowns. These Patriots were going to fling footballs, not musketballs. I admit, I’m a little embarrassed by my misunderstanding – but not so embarrassed that I won’t wear my revolutionary outfit!




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