Annie: The Dog Who Thinks She Runs the House

A heartfelt tale about the world’s tiniest boss with the world’s biggest attitude.

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You know, some people wake up to alarm clocks.

I wake up to Annie’s stare.

And not just any stare — the “I have decided it is breakfast time, Mother” stare.

If she had thumbs, she’d tap a clipboard.

This morning, she hopped onto the bed, plopped her warm little body against my leg, and gave that deep sigh that says, “I guess I have to take care of you again today.”

She does this every day.

It’s her thing.

But don’t let the snuggles fool you — this dog has agendas.

Like the zoomies.

Oh, the zoomies.

You’d swear she had a hot date with a NASCAR track. One minute she’s normal, and the next she’s sprinting laps through the house like she’s training for the Annie Olympics. If you’ve never seen a Rottweiler–Dachshund mix zoom, imagine a loaf of bread with legs reaching supersonic speed.

And she does it with purpose, too — like she’s burning off the stress of keeping me alive.

Annie’s also convinced the backyard deer are her sworn enemies.

Never mind that they are ten times her size.

Never mind that they do absolutely nothing but peacefully nibble grass.

In Annie’s mind, she’s the Sheriff of Fort Keener, and those deer are trespassing hooligans.

She goes out there and announces herself like:

“ATTENTION FOREST CREATURES. THE QUEEN HAS ARRIVED.”

And the deer?

They blink at her.

Slowly.

As if they are filing a mental complaint.

But the truth is — and she’d never admit this — Annie is all heart.

She watches me like I’m her whole assignment in life. She’s the first to notice if I’m sad, if I’m tired, if my legs are weak, or if I’m overwhelmed. She’ll lean her whole body weight into me like she’s grounding me to the earth. I find it amazing how much she loves everyone. I take her with me everywhere I go, and her favorite place is Walmart. She makes herself really cute and pretty, then starts sizing up the different people we pass. Did I say pass? I can’t always pass anyone by because of how social my little girl is. She loves to jump up on them and introduce herself. That almost always gives her a belly rub.

And on the days I doubt myself, she’s the one who reminds me:

“You’re stronger than you think, Mom. Now give me a carrot.”

She is my joy, my soundtrack, my heartbeat that walks on four little legs.

My Mandy girl sent her straight to me — I will always believe that.

And maybe that girl on Medium was right.

Maybe I should write more Annie pieces, because she’s not just a pet — she’s the chapter of my life that keeps getting better.

And Annie?

She’d probably say:

“Yes, Mom. Write the story. But put in the part where I chased the deer. People need to know about my heroism.”

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