It's a Dog's Life
Okay, okay, so we the dogs get blamed for eating a lot of homework, but since when did
we have to start doing the homework? Ever since that little mucus secreting babbling
dynamo got mobile it's been hell around here for Kato and me.
"DD, don't growl when Tyler hangs from your ears."
"DD, don't lick food from the baby's face 'til after dinner."
"DD, watch the baby. We'll only be gone an hour." Who do they think I am? Carl?
I'll tell you, it's always the eldest who has her youth shortened by the excessive
expectations of parents to prematurely assume adult responsibilities. At least that's what
the back issue of Parents magazine I ate last week said.
I suppose it hasn't been all bad though. They bought a new truck with lots of room for all
of us so we could go back and forth to the lake. I like it there. I can lay in the
water, chase a few sticks, dig up the garden. It's great fun. Sometimes when I'm down on
the dock, people will come and hold sticks over the water. After a while they pull out
these floppity smelly things with the sticks, and we all get real excited and dance
around. Then they put the smelly things back in the water. I don't get it, but it's cool
just the same.
I also like dinner time more than I used to. For years I only got to lie under the table
and sleep during dinner. Now the little guy feeds Kato and me from his throne. Sometimes
he teases us by holding his hand over the side, dripping with some premasticated delight.
Then just before you can get a tongue on his knuckles, he snatches it back and eats the
stuff himself. But usually he shares most everything with us. I keep hoping they'll give
him more meat, but they continue to stuff him with plants. Kato likes it though. She'll
eat anything. Personally, I always thought plants just marked the spots where you
were suppossed to dig.
After dinner we go into the living room. I get my spot on the couch while the big guy and
the little guy play on the floor. It used to be me down there, but I'm just a spectator
nowadays. Usually. All too often the little guy comes over to pet me. Of course he pets
like a pile driver, repeatedly whacking me on the head and nose. Then he pulls up my lips
to check out my teeth. I'm tempted to say, "All the better to eat you with my
dear." The trouble is, I can't talk, and it just loses something if I have to go over
to the computer to type it.
I guess I should be glad I'm not a cat though. He's pretty merciless toward them; pulling
tails and ripping fur out. Sometimes he hugs them too. Sort of like how Bruce Smith
sometimes hugs a halfback... if Bruce Smith drooled more.
Since he got upright like the other furless ones we've been going outside more. Well, I've
been going outside for years because there was too much screaming and hollering when I
went inside. You know, I don't get this. The big furless ones go in the little cold-floor
rooms. The cats go in the closet. The little guy goes wherever he pleases, and Kato and I
have to go outside. Is this legal? It certainly isn't fair. But at any rate, I didn't mean
that kind of going outside. I meant going outside to play.
The little guy plays a much better game of ball than the big guy. When the big guy throws
the ball it goes all the way across the yard. Then he expects me to go get it and bring it
back. Is the guy really this dumb? If he wanted the ball so bad maybe he shouldn't have
thrown it away in the first place. Now the little guy knows how the game should be played
with an old dog. He comes and gets the ball from me; backs up two steps; and throws it
back between my paws. I pick it up so it's nice an slimey for him like he likes it. Then
he comes back and gets it, and we do it again. I don't even have to get up. If this is
"working like a dog" then put me down for a little overtime.
I suppose this new family thing isn't so bad. After all, you'd think I'd be used to the
changes by now. I remember back in '86 when it was just me and the two big furless ones. I
got all the attention I could want. Then along came Gonzo and I had to learn to share
their time, but I also had a new friend to play with. As the years went by the siblings
rolled in one by one. Gumby, Kato, Casper, Tyler. Each new species came with it's own
equipment, toys, and routines. Each individual changed the household balance a bit. But on
a whole it all seemed to even out each time. (That is, except for the toys. The new kid
seems to have tons of them, and the old furless ones keep bringing more every time they
visit.)
I just figure there has to be a practical limit to how many of us can live here. I don't
mind pitching in a bit, but I can't get my own supper. Sure my paws are dexterous enough
to type, but that Rubbermaid container the dog food is in is pretty tricky. Trust me. I've
tried.
...now if I can only figure our how the printer works.
