It turns out that the Jon Katz Fan Club and Treat Association met sometime during the night, and this morning, they had chosen a new chairperson: But is the front dog now.

I realized this was true this morning when Bud came to the front of the group and got into my face. Something was up.

It makes sense if you know that Bud would take over. They never had a leader before; they just all appeared together.

Fate is too sweet to herd the sheep, so she wasn’t a good candidate, and Zinnia is a squish who loves all living things (except other dogs.) She would make an awful negotiator.

Bud, on the other hand, is a different story.

He’s a tough little dog.

He will chase and kill anything smaller than him; he even took on the astonished Amish horses who used to come into our yard. I think they thought he was a rabbit or giant bug.

But he is fearless; he thinks he is a Tyrannosaurus Rex and has no idea he is smaller than a basketball. He has chipmunks, squirrels, snakes, chickens, and moles terrified.

“This is a whole new chapter for Bedlam Farm,” Bud said, announcing his candidacy.” He said he is even thinking of joining a dog’s union to ensure the dogs’ rights are defended. If there isn’t one, he says, he’ll start one. I thought he looked like Edward G. Robinson.

“We all know there are several bags of treats in that drawer, and why should we get one or two a day? We aren’t just here to drool over Jon Katz and try to charm him; we want what’s entitled to us; we work hard, love Jon and Maria, and don’t cause any trouble. We deserve more in the way of treats; we want them at least three or four times a day.”

Fate and Zinnia are held back; they are bred to be obedient (at least Zinnia was) and are nervous about challenging their human. Bud, they elected their most extremist dog, Bud, to be head of the club, so they are at least supporting this campaign, if not too openly. They looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there.

The rumors from other dogs suggest that Bud heard about all the unionizing at Amazon, Starbucks, and now, Apple, Inc. He’s got the bug. ‘I run around all day chasing bats, rats, mice, and snakes,” he complained to the Chow-Chow down the road, “and what do I get for it? Two lousy digestive dental treats a day? They taste like sandpaper!”

Perhaps Bud is still bitter over his mistreatment in Arkansas. But he is treated well here!

I decided to fight the idea of my dogs unionizing. I’m not that progressive.

This was a pandora’s box; where would it lead to? Treats five times a day, organic dog food is flown in from Scotland, and dog beds are designed in Paris?

I slammed the treat door shut and refused each one of Bud’s demands. I spoke in my serious voice.

Be careful, I said, I control the door to the treats, and I get to decide how many you will get and one. Zinnia and Fate backed up and looked like they wanted to crawl under the table.

Bud, unfazed, indicated that he would get back to me; he wanted to consult with the group. He warned me that he was proposing a contract for each dog, spelling out their rights and benefits – where to sleep,  how many hours they should work, what kind of food they deserved.

Benefits? Contracts? For dogs. Never.

I had to brace myself for a prolonged conflict.

I wondered what his options were. They can’t quit and leave; they can’t replace me; Maria is not open to interfering (I think).

Maybe I’ll cut down to one treat a day to send them a message, and we’ll see what happens. I won’t be intimidated.

I wonder if they know how to make signs and posters.