Doggone it!

“The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man’s.” – Mark Twain


As I sit here, writing away on my laptop as often I do, I look across the living room at the dog, Riggs.  He’s sat upon the sofa, on his blanket, curled in a furry ball of sleep.  I began to wonder about those sayings people seem so fond of, “it’s a dog’s life” or, “he’s got it rough, I want to be a dog, preferably my dog”… and so on.  I don’t think I would like to be a dog, especially looking at him now… he woke up, began to lick his hind leg and is now attempting to lick the fur off the roof of his mouth… or, at least, that’s what I imagine this particular maneuver is meant to accomplish.

Granted, we all get stuff stuck to the roof of our mouths… I do love my peanut butter… but, alas, this is not why I would not wish to be a dog.  For one, there’s the fur.  I go to great lengths to remove my body hair, why would I wish to be covered in it?  Then, naturally, there’s the dog breath.  Unless I could guarantee my owner provided me a toothbrush and some mints regularly, this is a deal breaker.  I don’t go anywhere without gum and/or mints on my person… and dental floss, the good stuff – Glide Deep Clean, it’s fabulous.  I digress… I think the largest reason I wouldn’t want to be a dog is that it looks awfully boring.  You sleep a lot, which is the nice part. But then, you wait… and wait… and wait some more… for someone – anyone – to play with you, take you for a walk, pet and love all over you.

Riggs is my brother’s dog and he’s an amazing creature.  He seems a happy dog and rarely fusses about, except at dinner time, which he knows is 5PM CST… it was a bugger when Daylight Savings Time ended, poor thing… his internal clock is better than a Rolex, threw him off for a whole week.  He’s also my buddy.. we go outside together, I give him belly rubs as he lies in the grass and I let him roam the front yard and wander about, have a good sniff.  He’s got a good life, this is true.  He has children that adore him, a Dad that walks him often, and a mad Auntie whom, no matter how cute nor how many naps he gets, still does not wish to trade places.

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