Monkey’s New Job

Many people quit looking for work when they find a job. ~Author unknown

I Monkey here.

For a long time (I’m two, so that’s a long time!), I’ve been trying to figure out what my job is around these parts.

Everybody has to have a job.

Some get paid. Others don’t.

But a job keeps us busy and, as Mama would say, out of mischief.

So I Monkey have been trying on all sorts of jobs, hoping to find one I like.

One that Mama approves of.

Those aren’t necessarily the same thing, you see.

Anyway, here are some of the ones I’ve tried, along with our reactions:

1) Barker at the doorbell. (Huh. Mama’s got good ears, and she doesn’t need me to tell her when there’s a package — or a person — at the door. Or so she says.)

2) Jumper at Mama when she sneezes or blows her nose. (Mama doesn’t seem to appreciate how much I’m helping. That noise hurts my ears, and she really shouldn’t have to sound as if she’s exploding just to get a sneeze out. Right?)

3) Picker-up of stuff on the floor. Or our walks. (I never feel full, so why does she chide me for licking up crumbs and finding interesting smelly things somebody else left behind? You’d think she’d be grateful not to have to mop. Huh.)

4) Yowler at that screechy flute-thing. (I ask you, Does Mama have to drag it out every single day? No, I don’t think so either.)

5) Shredder. (My personal favorite, but Mama fusses. Every time. Gee, doesn’t she realize how much fun it is to snatch a scrap of paper, carry it off without her knowledge, and tear it to itty-bitty bits all over the rugs?)

Mama seems happiest when I walk nicely (read: calmly) on the leash with her. When I curl up in her lap for cuddles. When I fetch my toys. When I do something that makes her laugh (Zoomies in the back yard, anybody?). When I finish my foods. When I potty outdoors (even in the snow and rain).

Gosh, Mama, I do those things sort of automatically now. I’m not a baby!

Needless to say, it was a surprise when I learned she likes me to Find Money.

Seriously.

One walk, I found a five dollar bill, and she almost danced with glee.

A few weeks later, I found a twenty! You’d have thought she’d won the lottery. She scooped it up fast as you please, looked around to see if anybody was out searching for it, and when nobody was, she pocketed it.

At first, she didn’t think it was real. Because some idiot back in October had given out fake, oversized hundred dollar bills to the Trick-or-Treat’ers (who’d have probably rather had chocolate).

That twenty was real though, and Mama was joyous.

I guess now you can call me Monkey, Finder of Money.

You know, it’s not half-bad, having a job.