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.
