I’m Jeb-short for Shake Shake Shake, Shake Jabutty. Don’t ask me what it means, I just know it’s mine. I’m a black Lab, ninety pounds of muscle and drool, and somehow I’m still treated like I’m that twelve-week-old pup she first brought home. From down here, I notice things people miss. Like how she sighs a little louder when the phone lights up with a name she doesn’t want to see. Or how her hand drifts to her wedding ring even when she’s not thinking about it. Humans think they’re private, but they forget-dogs don’t just see. We listen. We smell. We know. And I’ve got a front row seat to it all, right here from the dog bed.

I take my job seriously-especially the eating part. But also the guarding, the greeting, the comforting. I’m what you might call a multi-tool of loyalty. You need a doorbell? I bark. You need a personal trainer? I drag you to the end of the leash. You need a vacuum? Give me thirty seconds with your sandwich crusts, problem solved.

The bed here is my headquarters. From this spot, I can monitor every important part of the house. The front door-critical for identifying friend or foe. The kitchen-critical for identifying snacks. The couch-critical for identifying the exact moment my human settles in and absentmindedly pats the cushion beside them. If I had a security clearance badge, I’d wear it proudly, right next to my collar tag.

And okay, yes, sometimes I nap on duty. But don’t mistake snoring for negligence. A sleeping Labrador is still a Labrador on call. I can go from dream-chasing tennis balls to full-alert mode in the time it takes for a car door to slam outside.

I’ve been told I’m a “good boy.” That’s not just a title-it’s a career. Being a good boy means showing up every single day. It means leaning my head into a tired hand after a long day, or sitting square in front of the door when the human leaves, just so they know someone’s watching the fort. It means shedding enough fur to knit a new Labrador every month, but keeping a smile on my face while I do it.

So when you hear this story, hear it from me. The view from the dog bed isn’t just about lying around. It’s about belonging. About knowing the rhythm of the house, the sound of the human’s footsteps, the squeak of the treat jar lid. It’s about being ready for whatever comes next, whether it’s dinner, danger, or just another round of fetch.

This is my world. This is Jeb.

Continue reading (Chapter-2) » The Human