 It's
A Dog's Life
Don't take this the
wrong way, but for the longest time now, I have been trying to imitate
my dog.
Not his look, which
is furry and chestnut brown. Not his walk, which, as with most golden
retrievers, is more of a waddle. And
not his tail. I don't need a tail. I have enough trouble buckling my pants
as it is.
Also, I can live
without his bathroom habits, which can be summed up this way: "Tree
or bush? Tree or bush? Aw, how about right here on the grass..."
No, what I admire
about my dog is his fascination with the simple routine of
life. Every day for him is like boarding the space shuttle.
For example: In the
morning, I tumble out of bed, grumble, yawn, open the
door, and ta-da! There he is, the canine answer to Richard Simmons. He
is so worked up, he doesn't know which way to go, toward me or away from
me. So he does both.
"Oh boy oh boy
oh boy!" he seems to pant. "It's morning and I'm gonna eat!"
Never mind that he has eaten every morning since he was born. Or that
he's
had the same food every morning since he was born - and that was 11 years
ago.
Never mind. He pulls
me downstairs and waits breathlessly as I scoop yet another helping of
boring brown nuggets into his bowl.
"Oh boy oh boy
oh boy! Food, food, food!"
I yawn.
Three minutes later,
he is off the food thing and into a new obsession: going out. Again, he
runs forward and backward. "I'm going out! I'm going out! Is this
great or what?"
Never mind that going
out has not changed one bit since we've lived here. He is so thrilled
by the notion of "exit" that he almost bites the doorknob off.
He bolts into the backyard as if heading for Tomorrowland with a sack
full of "E" tickets.
I slouch and yawn
again.
The great indoors.
Then comes with the
"bathroom" routine, which I already have described. Humans deal
with these functions begrudgingly. Not my dog. It's a real thrill for
him. He scouts for the perfect spot as if looking for beach front real
estate. "Tree or bush? Tree or bush?" And I don't have that
many trees.
Then, once his business
is taken care of -- and I make a mental note where we're going to have
to shovel come summer -- he is off the going out obsession and onto a
new one: going back in.
It doesn't matter
than he was in just two minutes ago. "Things have changed!
Things have changed!" he seems to pant. "I gotta get in there!
I gotta check
it out! Hurry up, hurry up!"
When I open the door,
he bolts in, races back and forth -- looking for space aliens, I suppose
-- and when he doesn't find any, he isn't disappointed. Instead, he snarls
at some ratty toy he's played with for months, throws it into the air
with his teeth, and watches it and.
"Look at that!" he seems to say. "It goes up, it comes
down!"
As I make a cup of
coffee, he jumps up to watch.
"Whatcha doin? Whatcha doin?
Coffee, huh? That's amazing!"
He then clamps onto
my leg and does a dance that, were it the early '50s, I might call the
"Hootchie Coo." I am not sure what he gets out of this -
"Oh boy, a leg! Oh boy, a leg!" -- but he seems to be having
a better time than many of the dates I've had.
When I disengage
and disappear behind a door, he lies down outside and waits
for me to come out again. If it is only 30 seconds later, he will still
react
as if I were a released hostage.
The sunny side.
Now, my dog does
not work. He does not pay taxes.
He does not create anything new (unless you consider the bushes outside).
But he also doesn't need clothes, doesn't covet cars or jewelry, and doesn't
care about houses, as long as he can find a sunny spot on the floor and
lie there for a few hours.
Meanwhile, I am bored
with my same routine.
Getting up is a drag. I can't get excited about breakfast. And going out
then
coming back only makes me wonder how many flies I've let in.
So I'm trying to
imitate my dog.
I'm trying to find wonder in the everyday.
After all, when you think about it, it is pretty remarkable that you open
your eyes each morning.
And since every few hours you get to quench your hunger, well, that's
a thrill, when you consider the alternative.
So while I can't
match my dog's drool, I am trying to match his zeal. Don't
worry. If you come to visit, I will not clamp on your leg and do the Hootchie
Coo.
On the other hand,
that sunny spot on the floor looks pretty tempting...
Author unknown
Contributed to "Pet Central" by Darlene Arden of Framingham,
MA, author of  The
Irrepressible Toy Dog, (Howell Book House, New York, NY, 1998)
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