He just doesn’t appreciate anything.
My master is a big dumb bald guy. I want him to like me, so I try to resemble his carefully-crafted look as much as I can. I’m making great strides toward being dumber and balder. I shed my hair constantly. I leave it all over the house so he can’t forget that I’m really trying hard to please him. I hang my tongue out the side of my mouth and attempt his dopey grin. I’ll never be able to get any bigger, of course. His immense size is something I’ll never be able to attain, because I can never eat his kind of food.
Oh, don’t get me started on the food. I have to eat this dry, crumbly kibble, while the whole family feasts on yummy morsels I don’t even know the name of. I beg and beg but that doesn’t get me anywhere. I’m reduced to licking the plates in the dishwasher. But hey, I’ll take what I can get.
Then there’s the potty issue. They seem to have a real hang-up with only going in one place, and then only behind a closed door. Plus, they hide their output so it can’t be admired. I just don’t get it. I try and I try to get them to loosen up a little. I show them how it’s done. I leave little examples around the house. I mean, how am I supposed to know what’s theirs if they won’t mark it for me? A dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do-do.
And speaking of doors, I sure wish I could figure them out. A door is a mystery. How does it work? Oh, for opposable thumbs! Since I’m destined to forever be unable to open a door, I have to take advantage of every opportunity to go through one. I try to hang out as close to the door as I can, especially when I see them start to act all nervous and run around the house. That’s the signal that they’re getting ready to leave. But even my admiration for their door-opening abilities goes un-appreciated. I usually get told to stay, or go night-night, or some other nonsense like that.
Whoever was the first to say “It’s a dog’s life,” certainly wasn’t a dog.
This column originally appeared in the May 21, 2008, edition of the Greenhorn Valley View.