Of all my two-legged human pets, The Daughter is by far the most athletic.

Unfortunately for me, she's also the one who takes me on walks.

As of late, she has decided we should increase our pace, working our "cardio" better.  I don't know what this mystical "cardio" may be but, unless it's a pork-filled treat, I am not interested.

What was once a fun, relaxing (if waddle-filled) activity has now become a nightmare -- my arthritic knees creak and groan with every concrete and asphalt impact.

I try moaning pitifully to remind her of my the shooting pains in my legs.  She looks down at me with what she must consider a winning smile, saying, "C'mon, Creak, this is good for you!"

What I need is a no-impact doggy elliptical.

In the meantime, I'll settle for classic trickery -- I've hidden my leash in a two-feet-deep hole in the backyard.

No more "cardio" for me.

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The second day I arrived at my pets' house, I spotted the reading chair that would become my own throne -- soft, with a slight rocking sway.

Sure, it's needed a few extra sheets and a cotton comforter over the years to help alleviate pressure on my knees ... but lying on my throne is like floating in a cloud.

I can lie in it all day, observing the crazy antics of the Two Leggers -- racing in and out, in and out ... a coffee in one hand, one of those obnoxiously loud and vibrating squawk box "phones" in the other.

I can doze off as my pets stare at the moving picture box, transfixed by its flickering images and all-too-realistic sounds (my word, if I get spooked by one more suddenly-appearing-and-barking Canine, I'm going to smack someone with my food bowl).

And I can painlessly dream of my perhaps slightly misspent youth, spent chasing tail (literally) and eating, chewing, and nibbling on everything in sight.

My pets have all abdicated my throne to me, adding other places to recline around it.  It is my chair -- my place in the household.  They respect that.

Recognizing that respect feels good.  Because, I gotta say, when they start in with the baby talk, I wonder ...

It's not very often that I awaken happy. Contented.

But today was one of those days.

Debilitating winter colds and illnesses have plagued me the past several weeks -- made all the more annoying by the fact that my two-legged pets and I live in the Southwest ... a warm, dry environment that should prevent us from catching cold-induced, er, colds.

But this morning ... clarity.  An openness in my sinuses.  It seems the antibiotics have finally started working their magic.

I look outside at the sunshine with relief, instead of eyeball pain.

I breathe in the fluttering breeze, with nary a wheezing attack in sight.

Today is a good day.  And, for this moment, that is quite something.

As I lie here watching my pets scurry around the house -- shoelaces untied, a backpack hiding from its owner, young ones too nervous to eat a proper breakfast -- I realize that my life as a member of the noble family of Canine has yet another benefit:  no forced schooling.

Whereas the Two-Leggers are all a fret, running around as school starts back up, I get to lie here.  Relaxed.  In fact, I could just go back to sleep if I want to.  Maybe get up in the early afternoon, and have one of my older pets rub my belly.  You know, just to get them to talk in those ridiculous baby voices.

Although, sometimes I wonder if that's the osteoarthritis talking (the wanting to just lie around, not the "let's-tickle-belly" baby voices).  If I felt younger and sprier, would I not mind running around myself a little, heading off to dog-training school?  I could serve a greater purpose and help firemen fight fires or the blind find those buttons on ATM machines.

Ouch.  My knees.  (All four of them.)

Alas, I cannot finish the thought without feeling the pain.

Back to the doggy bed it is.  Perhaps this afternoon I'll feel better.

Might I just say how happy I am to have left the snowy North and returned to my homeland?  I can appreciate that my Two-Legged Pets want to spend time with other members of their litter -- sometimes even I'm nostalgic for the days of old, my twelve brothers, sisters and I all huddled together as mom told us doggybedtime stories.

But the bitter cold, disappearing ground (damn you, "snow"!) and perpetual state of inactivity (see my last correspondence) were driving this here of the Noble Canine Family bonkers.

The Southwest -- it's a serene, barren place.  Nice and warm, dry weather.  Beautiful vistas.

And as long as my doggy water bowl continues to be filled, I'll remain in bliss forever.  (Though on that score, I've heard talk from my pets the water is disappearing.  Can it be?  More than marrow-less steak bones, this scenario plagues my night visions.)

I digress.

What better way to celebrate our return home?  Dinner at an outdoor cafe, of course.  (I know, it's now near or is January.  And, according to the round dial above Papa Pet, we're relaxing in 72-degree Fahrenheiters.  If you're anywhere not in the South, you probably hate me right now.  Then again, you do have water ...)

Strictly speaking, I'm not usually allowed to eat at the restaurants with my pets (silly "health inspectors," I've been told).  Though on account of my always good behavior, I am allowed to sit beneath the table.

Which brings me to the unintelligent villains of my story.

My pets were sitting there, enjoying a good meal and recounting various fun stories from the holidays (I particularly loved hearing once again how, because of losing their luggage on an airplane, one of the "New Yawk" litter actually fainted at the prospect of wearing non-form-fitting, lighter-shaded clothing).

And what should happen but two very shifty, shady young women with gelatinous bellies, thin, strung-out, excessively curly light hair, and protruding overbites sauntered in and sat at a table across the aisle.  They emanated a strange, demonic attitude.

And, to what would have been the "New Yawk" breed's horror, they were wearing sweatpants.  In public.

Almost immediately I could sense my pets' attitudes changing -- their joy dimming.

I peeked across the way to see the Evil Urchin Twins looking maliciously toward my family.  Listening in, I realized they were mimicking my pets' conversation in strange voices and then ... laughing.

My pets' auras worsened.

I was confused -- they never seemed this discomfited.  And the Squid Women -- their auras grew ever more malevolent.  The fur on my back stood straight.

It seemed my family was under attack ... but unable or refusing to do something about it.  The impulse to defend was mounting.

I felt a light pull on my pets' leash and realized we were leaving.  One of the Platypus Sisters stood up smiling, revealing several dark teeth and a hellacious gust of breath even the Two-Leggers must have noticed.  She sneered at Papa Pet, "Don't forget your purse!"

BAM!

My teeth were digging into her heavily-volumed (if oddly structureless) rump.  Squeals of pain erupted.  Shouts of anger from Dim Henchwoman #2.  A strange, potent gust of wind from my victim's other end.

Calm instructions from my family:  "Creak, let go.  Creak, she's not worth the attention for which her disgusting attitude pleads."

I bit tighter.  I was pissed.

"Creak."

No one messes with my family.

"Creak."

I could taste the fear in her sweat.

"Creak."

And what a bitch, too.  Now my OA was definitely going to flare up.

"Creak, my boy, bite any tighter and she could infect you with something."

DOH!

I released and looked pleadingly at my pets -- the last time I inadvertently said hello a little too well to a new friend at the park I had a metropolis of fleas devouring my nose.

"Good boy," The Mother Pet said.  "Everyone, we're leaving now."

That night I received a full steak bone all my own.

Beautiful, delicious marrow included.