Monday, October 26th, 2026
Full Moon, Cycle 4, Era 20
Every dog I have ever met has known exactly what I am.
On Pop's ranch in Cotulla, the cattle dogs wouldn't share a pasture with me. Pop said a dog that won't fetch for you is telling you something. I told him the fetch market was oversaturated, and he gave me the look the dogs gave me.
Today a woman in Lancashire is warning strangers about a £12 rope tug toy from my storefront after losing her cane corso. Comms wanted empathy in the statement by noon. I told the room to "put our most renewable energy sources on it," and nobody laughed, though three people quietly reread their contracts.
On the follow-up call I attempted Sympathetic Founder Face, and the smile kept widening past the corners of my jaw, revealing considerably more molar than one man should own. The head of UK safety asked if my camera was buffering.
I said yes.
At 9 p.m. I drove to our comms VP's house to finalize. Her doormat read LAPTOPS SLEEP AT SIX. SO DO WE. I stood on it for forty minutes like a returned parcel, unable to cross, while her golden retriever watched me through the glass with the face of a customer who reads every one-star review.
MEMO TO SELF: Leadership Principle #11, Earn Trust, amended: Dogs do not leave reviews; therefore, dog opinions are not customer data. Doormats with punctuation are now classified as hostile infrastructure.
Still thirsty. Still Day 1.