Zeus the Pomsky

Very questionable priorities. 😆

So apparently Dad is mad at me.
Which is confusing.

Because if you really look at the situation logically… this whole thing is clearly Dad’s fault.

Let me explain.

Mom decided to take a day for herself.

Which means she left the house in the hands of two individuals:

Dad…
A highly trained Pomsky security officer (me)

Now Mom has been telling Dad for approximately the last 47 years that the roof needs repair.

Dad kept saying things like:
“Yeah yeah, I’ll look at it.”

Which in human language means:
“I will absolutely not look at it until the house is one rainstorm away from becoming an indoor swimming pool.”

So today Dad woke up feeling dangerously confident.

He walked outside, looked up at the roof, and said:

“Yeah… I can fix that.”

Sir.
You work in accounting.

The only roof you should be raising is the lid on my treat container.

But no.
Dad brought out a ladder.

A big ladder.

A ladder so tall it looked like it was trying to climb into space.

He leaned it against the house and started climbing.

Now I was watching this whole situation very carefully.

Because if there’s one thing I know about Dad… it’s that balance is not his strong skill.

Halfway up the ladder he started wobbling.

Not a little wobble.
I’m talking about inflatable car-dealership tube-man wobble.

But somehow…
against all odds…
Dad made it to the roof.

He stood up there proudly like he had just conquered Mount Everest.

Then he looked down at me and said:
“Stay down there.”

Excuse me?
You think you’re going on a roof adventure without me?

Absolutely not.

So naturally I prepared to climb the ladder too.

But before I could start my heroic ascent…

I did a quick warm-up zoomy.

Unfortunately… during my extremely professional warm-up zoomy… my big fluffy butt made contact with the ladder.

Just a little bump.

Nothing dramatic.
Except the ladder then did something very unexpected.

It fell over.

Not slowly.
Not gently.

It hit the ground like a falling tree in a lumberjack competition.

BOOM.
The ladder was now lying flat on the ground.

Dad was still on the roof.

And I suddenly realized something important.

Dad cannot get down.

I looked up.
Dad looked down.
We made eye contact.

Dad said:
“Zeus…”

I tilted my head.

He said:
“Go get someone!”

Sir.

First of all…
everyone in this neighborhood screams when I run at them at full speed.

Second of all…
I don’t have hands.

Third of all…
that ladder weighs roughly the same as a baby elephant.

And finally…
I had already burned a lot of calories during my warm-up zoomies

So I made the responsible decision to take my afternoon nap.

Dad spent the next three hours on the roof.

Three hours.
In the sun.

Slowly roasting like a human rotisserie chicken.

At one point he tried yelling for help.
But the neighbors probably just thought he was talking to clouds.

To make matters worse…
Dad left his phone inside.

Which means his only communication method was:
“ZEUS HELP.”

And unfortunately…
I was extremely busy sleeping on the couch.

Eventually Mom came home.

She pulled into the driveway sipping her extra-large caramel frappuccino like she was starring in a beverage commercial.

Then she looked up.
And saw Dad.

Standing on the roof.
Red.
Sweaty.
Angry.

Looking like a sunburned raccoon that had made several poor life decisions.

Mom ran over and picked up the ladder.
Dad climbed down slowly.

When he finally reached the ground, he took off his sunglasses.

Mom was mid-sip of her frappuccino.
Then she saw his face.

Dad’s face was so sunburned it looked like a whole chili pepper with eyebrows.

Mom spit her frappuccino everywhere and started laughing so hard she nearly fell over.

Dad looked at me.
Dad looked at the ladder.
Dad looked at the sky.

Then he said the words humans say when they are deeply questioning their life choices.

“Zeus… this is your fault.”

Excuse me?
Sir.

You climbed a roof.
Without a phone.
Without a plan.
And somehow I’m the problem?

Honestly…
I would like to point out that none of this would have happened if Dad had simply stayed where he belongs.

Which is on the couch.
Opening my treats.

And not climbing buildings like Spider-Man from Temu.

Human in training 😂

Mom had a glass (or three) of wine before taking me for my evening walk to the park.

Everything was great… until I felt the harness loosen, and I thought, “Zeus, you’ve trained your whole life for this moment.”

Two twists, one shimmy, and ABRACADABRA—BOOM! I was gone faster than a free sample at Costco.

Mom, blissfully unaware, walked all the way home with my empty leash swinging in the breeze.

When she walked through the door, Dad took one look and asked, “Why is there a leash but no dog?”
That’s when it clicked.
And just like that, the world turned upside down.

They both bolted out the door to look for me like their lives depended on it.
For 30 minutes, they were hysterical—running through the park, calling my name, probably imagining the worst—or worse, picturing the vet bill.

I’m sure Dad was already designing my “MISSING DOG: WILL WORK FOR TREATS” posters in his head.

Then Mom’s phone rang. A lady on the other end said, “Hi, is this Zeus’ mom? I found him… in the meat aisle at the supermarket.”

Turns out, my escape route was genius: park → road → supermarket → MEAT HEAVEN. I had managed to charm my way into the store and right into aisle 3, living my best life sniffing out every steak, sausage, and roast chicken within reach.

Mom was so embarrassed, she grabbed me and bolted, muttering something about “never showing her face in that supermarket again.”

Dad, meanwhile, stood there holding the receipt, looking like he’d been handed two life sentences—one for the meat bill and one for dealing with me.

Let’s just say, I now have a lifetime ban from aisle 3—and possibly from Mom’s wine nights too.

Dog moms understand this level of guilt. 😂🐾