Episode 1: The Morning Mission

Dewey and Big Daddy's Excelent Adventures Episode 1: The Morning Mission

Prologue: The Great Dane Who Lives in a Chihuahua

There are three essential things you need to know about the world. First: every important decision is based on a smell. Second: the Man with the Boxes is an enemy, probably a spy, and definitely suspicious. Third, and most crucial: my name is Dewey, and I am the biggest, bravest dog on this mountain.

I know what the humans see. They see a small, compact, five-year-old animal—half Jack Russell, half Chihuahua—who gets nervous when a leaf blows too hard. But in my heart, I am a Great Dane. A muscular, silent guardian whose job it is to protect my pack from the constant dangers of the Tennessee mountaintop.

And right now, the danger was imminent. The clock said six o’clock—the Hour of Departure.

The Mission Briefing

The first alert usually came from Momma (The Human). She moved with fast, quiet efficiency, smelling faintly of clean linen and disinfectant. This meant her uniform was on, and the long shift at the human hospital was about to begin. She was a Nurse, which meant she spent all her energy fixing other humans so she had almost none left for herself. That was Big Daddy’s job when she was home.

I sat patiently by the bedroom door, not twitching a single ear, to show I was ready for the mission briefing.

“Okay, my little monster,” Momma said, kneeling down and scratching behind my ears with exactly the right pressure. “You keep an eye on Big Daddy today, okay? He’s feeling a little… wobbly. No chasing squirrels too hard, and make sure he rests.”

Wobbly. The code word.

I knew the word for Big Daddy’s condition was “Dysautonomia,” but I didn't need the long, confusing human word. I called it The Going Offline. Sometimes Big Daddy would get up too fast and his energy would just leak right out of him. His face would get gray and his hands would shake, and he would have to lie down on the floor right where he was until the system rebooted. It was terrifying.

So when Momma said “Wobbly,” it meant the Primary Target—Big Daddy—was vulnerable, and the little dog needed to be the big dog.

I barked three short, sharp barks. This means: Mission Accepted. Perimeter Secure. The Great Dane is on Watch.

The Great Escape (Big Daddy Edition)

Big Daddy (The Best Friend) was still in the bed, cocooned in blankets. He smells like slow sleep and beard oil. He is large and warm, like a sun-warmed boulder, and when I lie next to him, I know I can handle anything—even the Vacuum Monster.

Momma left. The front door clicked. Mission Phase One: Complete.

Phase Two was the hardest: Big Daddy needed to get from the bed to the couch, where the television and the pillows were. For most creatures, this is a three-second walk. For Big Daddy when he’s "wobbly," it’s an elaborate, high-risk stealth routine.

He sat up slowly, breathing deep, which I interpreted as him powering up his internal systems. He squinted at the sunlight leaking through the curtains.

The Light Demons. They were everywhere.

Big Daddy put one foot on the floor. He paused. He then took three small, slow steps to the bathroom, leaning on the wall the whole time. He was navigating the invisible terrain, avoiding the dangerous spots in the floor that I knew existed only in the space between sitting and standing.

I shadowed him, low to the ground. If he failed, I was ready to spring into action—which meant barking very loudly and maybe licking his cheek until he laughed.

He made it to the doorway. Success! But then, a sudden moment of peril. Big Daddy paused, rubbed his eyes, and swayed just a tiny bit.

He’s going offline!

I let out a low, rumbling growl—the kind I imagine a Great Dane makes, though it probably sounded more like a tea kettle trying to boil. It was directed at the empty space by the corner where a particularly aggressive dust bunny was hiding. It was a warning to the Light Demons: Back Off, I’m the Great Dane.

Big Daddy blinked, smiled gently, and placed a hand on my head. “It’s okay, buddy. Just a little low today.”

He didn’t know he was being protected from interdimensional shadow creatures, but he appreciated the sentiment.

He reached the couch, a safe harbor. He collapsed onto it with a deep, happy sigh. Mission Phase Two: Complete.

The Counter-Mission

Big Daddy was safely collapsed onto the couch. That meant I could assume my primary surveillance position. I launched myself (with the grace and quiet dignity of a one-pound bag of flour) onto the back of the couch, landing directly behind Big Daddy’s head.

Molly (The Beagle) was already stationed at Big Daddy’s feet, a warm, patient lump that smelled faintly of old blankets and historical wisdom.

From my perch, I had access to the two most critical zones: the front window and Big Daddy’s ear.

I used my nose to gently nudge aside the curtain, creating a tiny surveillance peephole. I alternated my attention: one second, I monitored the outside world for threats; the next, I checked Big Daddy’s ear for temperature and emotional status.

Big Daddy turned on the television—a device that talked too much and smelled of hot plastic. He was already sinking into the cushions.

I pressed my chin to the back of his neck and offered my professional opinion on the situation. “The light levels are stable, Big Daddy. We have secured the perimeter. But I smell coffee. I advise immediate deployment of a retrieval team.”

Big Daddy chuckled, a deep, comfortable sound that shook the couch just enough to make my landing precarious. He reached up and scratched my chest. “You’re the best security system a man could ask for, Dewey.”

A laugh! A success! The true purpose of the Great Dane is not just defense, but also mood elevation. I accepted the chest scratch as a medal.

Molly, seeing that Big Daddy was stable and Dewey was merely acting foolish, lifted her head.

“Rest, small one. The sun is not yet high. There are no great battles until noon,” she communicated through a lazy thump of her tail.

“Nonsense, Molly! I just fought off the Light Demons in the hallway, and I am currently monitoring Big Daddy for further deviations!” I countered, shifting my weight to demonstrate my readiness.

Molly sighed, a long, deep sound that meant 'You are ridiculous, but you are loved.'

I ignored her. Big Daddy was safe for now, but I had a new, secondary mission: I needed to check the porch. I needed to investigate whether the suspicious Man with the Boxes had left any new contraband overnight.

I shot Big Daddy a look that said: Hold the fort, I’ll be right back.

I took off for the front door, paws clicking softly on the hardwood floor. The Great Dane was on the move.

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