By David Dumouriez

Rex sleeps a lot more than they do. Well, that’s not so difficult: they don’t sleep! Instead they put themselves on standby, which complicates matters for Rex when he wakes up. Sadly, whatever he does, he can’t make them hear him as he lacks the capacity to return them to their version of consciousness. 

And, just as frustratingly as far as Rex is concerned, eating is another thing they don’t need to do. But despite having never experienced that dreaded ache, they clearly get the concept of it because when they’re fully activated they fill his bowl. In fact, it’s one of the first tasks they attend to. He finds that if he shouts a bit, or sings, he often gets a second portion quite soon afterwards. Sometimes, depending on how much he pleases them, it might even be a more exotic or more delicious meal. Something meaty and juicy rather than dry and crunchy.

And they’re not stingy with play either. They love to work him hard and indulge his seemingly endless physical energy. He’ll run all day for them. Catch things, chase objects. Climb. Swim. He’s nothing if not versatile. He can’t work out whether they’re unable to do these things themselves, or whether they just choose not to. In any case, he’s too busy with such activities to analyse events to any great extent. He pushes himself to the limit, then claims the sleep that’s necessary for him to repair his body. 

In the meantime, they do whatever it is they do. They’re double his size, so he can’t see clearly what’s going on at their level. The only time he’s roughly equal to them is when they pick him up for some reason. In truth, he doesn’t always want this, but he has to go along with it. (He did try struggling once, but it didn’t end well.) Maybe they do this so they can see him better. Or, to be fair to them, to give him a sense of their appreciation. Other times it seems to be a way to test his powers of landing after they throw him down. It sounds rougher than it is. Actually, he likes it. Sometimes — just sometimes — they dropkick him. That’s not so good. Still, he doesn’t really blame them. The pain lasts longer than the memory of it. 

Oh, and there are other things they don’t do. Well, if you don’t eat or drink, you don’t have to worry about any kind of irrigation … But fortunately they provide a little area for that. And magically it’s all much cleaner than it could be.

Also, Rex never sees them interacting. Not like he does, at least. On the other hand, they frequently witness him performing. They even facilitate it! They introduce another specimen into his area, or maybe take him somewhere else to commit the act. Then they, and others that he doesn’t recognise, watch whatever happens and monitor the results. It appears that satisfaction is ensured all round!

Nothing’s perfect, of course. But Rex is quite content. Being human, you see, is really not that bad when all’s said and done.

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