Oooof. I’m going to have a talk with that cat. Whatever he’s eating is...don’t get me wrong, it’s delicious, but I gotta be able to go places without having to worry about letting loose with a little bark from the other end. And I don’t live alone. Every time I fark, The Philosopher, oooh, the look he gives me. Does he really think what comes outta him is rainbows and puppies? Actually, that’s not a good analogy. I was a puppy, and I know how disgusting we can be. Cutest things on the planet, am I right? But, totally disgusting. When I was a puppy I’d sometimes chew on books. Gross.
Uh oh, I hear the distinct footfall of a three-legged savant. I wonder what he wants. Oh, Mother Lassie and Snoopy! You want me to take you for a walk? Now? I just got comfortable. Fine. I can’t say no to this guy. He grins like an idiot every time. Yes, yes, I know you’re so happy to see the outside. Good timing, though, really – I need to talk to a mule about a man, if you get my drift.
Brother. Look at how much The Philosopher likes this whole outdoors business. I can see the tweets from the haters already, but I actually like being indoors. Call me uncivilized, but central air and heat, re-purposed wood floors, eating from a bowl. That is what I call living. Those elites who like to catch their food and go “organic” and live with fleas and ticks, no thank you. Some of them even claim the rabies vaccine makes you goofy and eat your own poop. Fake News! Watching Goofy cartoons will make you eat your own poop, speaking of which.
Hey, hold up, I need to...you know. Excuse me, you know I can’t do this if you’re staring at me. I need to concentrate. How would you like it if I watched you? Don’t answer that. It’s bad enough that you go in my drinking fountain. What is wrong with you! And it’s literally feet from where you sleep. I have been providing you, through my example, with healthy living habits and it never sinks in. All right, I’m finished, let’s go.
No? Okay, it’s not my best work, but if you really think it’s worth picking up while the steam is still rising off it, be my guest. May I just say, many of your kind don’t do that. They pick flowers, or take pictures, or collect empty cans, which to my mind is an even weirder habit, but they don’t pick up piles of Garfield! Yes, that’s a politically incorrect expression, some may even call it hate speech, but Garfield’s a disgusting creature and it is not by accident that he has become synonymous with lawn mines.
Oh look, more of them. This taking me for a “we won’t be gone long” walk is now a marathon. When The Philosopher meets more of his kind, and they start blathering in that gibberish, well I can forget about being back on the couch in time to watch The Joy of Painting – oh, that guy, that hair, it’s guilty pleasure…Ugh, just listen to them. On and on, like I’m not even here. Years and years of waiting and I’ve not once heard a single one of these...bipeds make the slightest effort to learn my language. If I didn’t have the gift of telepathic communication, this relationship would be a disaster. Of course, it’s a mixed blessing. The Philosopher is soooo deluded about the Universal Intelligent Energy. To begin with, she prefers to be called Elaine, like the female character on Seinfeld. The idea for the show Seinfeld came from his dog, hence the character Elaine. Duh.
Finally, moving along! I may actually see my favorite area-rug again. What, what, why are you suddenly so excited? That? That is what all the fuss is about? It’s not even mine. Come to think of it, none of the previous nine or ten piles have been mine, but you pick ’em up anyway. You don’t have to gush, size isn’t everything. What your species considers artistic achievement, I don’t know why I even bother. I should know better. I’ve seen them at barbecues. The subtle nuances of kibble are completely wasted on the palates of creatures such as this.
Ah, home sweet home. I’m thinking, once we get inside: couch, television, and I’ll telepathically convince The Philosopher that some of the sandwich was actually made for me and then....
Hey, hey, hey, that cat! Yes, I’m talking to you. Lay off the Fancy Feast.
| Copyright © 2018 by James Knudsen |
Great stuff. Dogs MUST think we're insane. Some folks say dogs think they're people, but of course what they REALLY think is we are dogs who just don't know how to act. We poop in the house, but just let THEM poop in the house and we go berserk! We hide perfectly good food under the cabinet where it drives them crazy smelling it in there, then we put it out by the road where other crazy dogs come and steal it every time. Duhh! Of COURSE they do! Wouldn't you?
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