12/25/2025
I am currently writing this from the floor of my sister’s pantry, where I am providing emotional support to a 165-pound coward.
My sister, Emily, lives in a house that can only be described as "The Museum of Fragile Things." She has white carpets. She has glass coffee tables. She owns vases that look like they would shatter if you whispered an insult at them.
I usually avoid taking Moose to Emily’s house. Moose is a wrecking ball made of enthusiasm. But Emily was hosting a "chill movie night," and she foolishly said, "Oh, bring Moose! I haven't seen my nephew in ages!"
I warned her. I said, "Emily, he is currently in a phase where he doesn't know where his butt is." 🥰🐶
She said, "It’ll be fine."
(Narrator voice: It was not fine.)
We arrived. Moose entered the house with uncharacteristic grace. He sniffed the white carpet. He respectfully avoided the glass table. He settled down on his designated blanket like a perfect gentleman. I relaxed. I let my guard down. I even poured a glass of wine.
Then, The intruder arrived.
It was a mouse. A field mouse. A tiny, adorable, fluff-ball roughly the size of a kiwi fruit. It skittered out from under the TV stand, paused in the middle of the pristine white rug, and twitched its nose.
I saw it. Emily saw it. Moose saw it.
Now, in the wild, dogs are wolves. They are hunters. They are apex predators.
Moose, however, is a muppet.
He did not bark. He did not chase. He made a sound I have never heard a living creature make before. It sounded like a balloon being strangled. Hhhhuuuuuuurrrk!
And then, he defied gravity.
You have to understand, Moose is not built for verticality. He is built for horizontal lounging. But in the face of this terrifying, squeaking kiwi, Moose decided the floor was lava.🥰🐶
He scrambled. His paws, which have the traction of socks on ice, flailed wildly. He knocked over a floor lamp. Crash. That was the first casualty.
"Moose!" Emily shrieked, pulling her legs up onto the sofa.
Moose saw Emily on the sofa and thought, “Safety! The high ground!”
He launched himself.
Now, Emily is a petite woman. Moose is the size of a refrigerator. He landed on the sofa, not next to her, but on her. He tried to curl his entire massive body into a ball directly on her lap, burying his face in her throw pillows to hide from the beast.
"Get him off! I can't breathe!" Emily wheezed, her voice muffled by 160 pounds of terrified dog.🥰🐶
But the mouse moved again. It ran toward the sofa.
Moose saw the movement. He realized the sofa was compromised. He needed higher ground.
He looked at the dining room table.
The dining room table was set with snacks. Bowls of popcorn. A charcuterie board. Wine glasses.
"No," I whispered. "Moose, don't you dare."
He dared.
He leaped from the sofa, using my sister’s stomach as a launchpad. He hit the dining table with the elegance of a falling piano.
CRASH. CLATTER. SMASH.
The popcorn went airborne. The charcuterie board slid off the edge, sending expensive prosciutto flying like confetti. A wine glass shattered.
And there stood Moose. Standing on top of the dining table. Shaking like a leaf. His head was scraping the chandelier. He looked down at the floor with wide, horrified eyes, checking for the monster.
The mouse, uninterested in the drama, simply walked under the pantry door and vanished.
The room fell silent.
Emily was gasping for air on the ruined sofa.
I was standing in a pile of popcorn.
Moose was standing on the table, knocking the chandelier with his ears every time he shivered.
"Is it gone?" his eyes seemed to ask. "Did the dragon leave?"
I had to coax him down. It took twenty minutes. I had to use a step stool and high-value treats (the prosciutto he knocked onto the floor) to convince him that the floor was no longer deadly.🥰🐶
We are now in the pantry. I am sitting on the floor with him because he refuses to go back into the living room. He has his head in my lap, and he is letting out those long, shuddering sighs of a war veteran.
Emily is cleaning up the popcorn. She just poked her head in.
"He owes me a lamp," she said, deadpan. "And a new spleen."
"I'll Venmo you," I said.
Moose lifted his head, looked at Emily, and gave a single, soft woof.
She sighed, walked over, and kissed his giant, velvet forehead. "You're lucky you're cute, you giant baby."🥰🐶
Moose thumped his tail against the cereal boxes.
We are never allowed back here again. But honestly? As I sit here in the dark pantry, listening to him snore, knowing he would protect me from absolutely nothing but would definitely crush me with love... I wouldn't trade him for a brave dog.
Although, I am going to buy him a cat costume for Halloween. It feels appropriate.🥰🐶
