When I was a puppy, I thought a lot. And by “a lot,” I mean pretty much all the time.

Before you ask, no, I didn’t particularly like to think, but I didn’t have anything else to do, so amusing myself by whiling away the hours pondering thousands of things of which I knew absolutely nothing about was my only alternative. It’s amazing what you’ll do when you’re only bored enough. I think boredom is the greatest motivator.

I thought about pretty much everything I thought there was to think of, but because I was in Dogz 1 and wasn’t very bright in the first place—or at least I wasn’t then; make a wisecrack and watch what happens, go on, try it, I dare you—that didn’t amount to much. So mainly I thought about how badly I wanted my owner to come play with me, and when I wasn’t thinking about that or trying to think of something else to think about, which is harder than it sounds, I busied myself by sitting in my playpen and trying to protect the computer for my owner—whoever that was; I didn’t know because they never came by. During the first few weeks of my sudden period of activity, I spent a couple hours a day growling at the darkened monitor, but trust me on this, that gets boring real quick, even worse than the doing nothing; and so eventually I gave it up altogether and settled for some good old-fashioned pacing instead.

Interspersed with the occasional pant, of course. I am dog, hear me breathe.

Here’s the gist of it.

Pace, pant.

Pace, pant.

Pace, pant.

Pace, trip, ouch, howl, whine, moan, gripe, pant. In that order. Deep breath because that was a long sentence, and if I knew English I’d probably say it was a run-on made up of a nonsensical string of present-tense verbs—including the word “ouch,” which doesn’t even qualify as a verb; I’m not sure what it is, but I know it’s not a verb—but I didn’t, so I didn’t, and kept going.

And yes, I did trip over my own paws. It’s not like there was anything else around to trip over.

Pace, pant.

Pace, pant.

Pace, strange noise.

Wait a minute.

I watched curiously as the monitor glowed for the first time in—well, the first time in ever. Which isn’t correct, but who cares really? So I stopped pacing and promptly tripped over my feet again, and when I’d recovered; hey, I was still a puppy, give me a break; I got up and trotted across the room and realized that my owner was finally visiting me. Of course, it didn’t look like my owner, it looked like a cursor, because I was inside the computer. But I would take what I could get. I walked over to the “cursor,” stuck out my tongue, and licked it. I don’t really know why. I suppose that when dogz don’t know what else to do, they just lick. Or think. Or both. Don’t ask. It’s something to do, and it’s better than standing there looking like an idiot. Or tripping over your feet again.

Anyway, my owner didn’t seem to want his—or her—hands—or hand—washed, because the next thing I knew, I was dangling in the air, and the next thing I knew after that, I was sailing through the air until I crashed into the opposite wall of the playpen and slid down to the ground, and my owner was gone again. So I shook my head and resumed my duty, which is a fancy way of saying that I got up and kept pacing back and forth. If I’d known about New Year’s, my resolution would’ve been to stop tripping over my own paws. But I didn’t, so it wasn’t, so I kept tripping.

Pace, pant.

Pace, pant.

Pace, pant.

Pace, WHOA.

For the second time that day—for the second time that lifetime—I found myself hovering in the air. But unlike the time before, my owner wasn’t around. So what on Earth and Dogz 1 could possibly have been lifting me? I thought about this for a moment, but it gave me a headache because I wasn’t used to thinking much of anything, not well, at least, so I stopped thinking and just watched what happened next. And what happened next was that I flew straight at the wall of the playpen and straight through it.

Yes, through it.

I found myself in… hmm. If I’d known what outer space looked like, I would’ve said I found myself in something that looked like outer space. But I didn’t know what it looked like. But you do—or so I assume—so I found myself in something that looked like outer space, and off in the distance was something that looked like a giant computer icon. From what I could see, and I couldn’t see much—not clearly, anyway—it resembled a large blue paw print, and atop the paw print what I thought looked to be a glowing yellow number three. I blinked. Hmm, I thought idly, I guess that’s Dogz 3.

Wait a minute, I thought, a little less idly this time, did I just say Dogz 3

Of course, I hadn’t just said Dogz 3, I’d thought Dogz 3, but detailed analysis isn’t first on your mind when you’re flying through space, so I dropped the subject.

Then I didn’t think anything more, much to my relief, because I crashed through the icon with a final burst of the strange “force” that was pushing me—“force” was what I called it, for lack of a better word, and it was oddly appropriate—whacked my head on something that looked like a yellow kitchen cupboard, though I didn’t know what a kitchen cupboard was, and blacked out. And that was the story of my importation. It might’ve been more interesting if I’d known what was going on half the time—or at least been conscious.

But I wasn’t, so it’s not.

Sorry.