Dog Years

A hard, cold rain fell steadily on the dreary January evening. Lying at the foot of the bed, a small brown dog looked at her two humans with a degree of disgust.  Both were mad (again). And both weren’t paying any attention each other (and her.)  Their bad moods filled the room like a noxious cloud.

She thought about biting one of them but knew she hadn’t had her rabies shot. There was no need to risk an Ol’ Yeller ending. So she laid at the end of the bed staring at her humans and their grumpy faces.

She sighed and put her head down.

Talking heads on the 24-hour cable news show argued about something trivial. A squall of rain began hitting the double French-doors in the bedroom, making the tension in the room even thicker.  A real storm was blowing in Washington. And here.

“People are so complex,” the dog thought.Don’t people realize that life is a gift?  It’s a blessing?  She knew she’d never trust the angry guys on TV. Anyone who wants you to be afraid should not be trusted, the dog decided. They’re selling something.

The dog suddenly bit at her tail. A flea had chomping down on her butt, seeking dinner. “Seems appropriate,” the dog thought.

She looked back up at the bed. Both humans were still quiet. They wasted more life being mad. Say what you want about dogs, they got “it.” Come home from work, the dog acts like you’ve just liberated Paris. Leave for work and the dog is devastated.  If people only treated each other like that, the world would be a much nicer place.

And didn’t they understand how short life really was? You spend an eternity as worm food and you use the few fleeting moments of life being pissed off?  The dog wasn’t expert on time, but she did understand the concept of “Dog Years.”  In her mind, life was about two things, “Rest and play.”  You rest when you can. And you make everything else fun.

Well, except trips to the vet. The dog scoffed. If the humans had to have a fecal sample, they would not be so eager to take their four-legged fur babies in for such medieval torture.

The dog scratched behind her ear.  “#$%# bloodsuckers,” she cursed.  She almost made a joke about Congress, but decided against it. Too easy.  She looked back at her humans.  Somehow she would have to rescue them from themselves. She had to truly be man’s best friend.

She stood up, stretched, yawned a Snoopy yawn and walked up between her humans.  She began wagging her tail as hard as she possibly could.  Never had a being radiated so much joy.

The male human put his e-reader down and began to scratch her belly. The female human smiled as she started rubbing the little brown dog’s ears.

Thunder rumbled off in the distance and little brown dog curled up next to her humans. There was too much anger in the world. And she was going to stamp it out, one human at a time.

That’s how she chose to spend her dog years.