Sure wish I could give the author credit. It wasn't me, but it is priceless.
Subject: Dog
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 dogs, can be 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 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
beachfront 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 land.
"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...
The End..."!!!!!
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