Monologues with Dogs

Part Three of Tales from the Alternate Universe

Monologues with Dogs 

I’m a pretty good boy most of the time. I try to do what I’m told. I sit when they tell me to sit. It’s easy, no hassle, and frankly, sometimes all I want to do is sit down, so it works out for both of us. I’ll put my paw out and let them shake it because it seems to make them happy. I’ll even come running the second they say “here”, because I love them and want to be around them most of the time.

Sometimes they’ll give me treats for performing these simple tasks. I’ll pretty much do anything for treats. What can I say? I’m a glutton for those dog damn things.

The point is, I’m a pretty good dog. In addition doing what they tell me most of the time, I keep them safe from those evil rabbits, wretched cats, and any other critter that finds its way into the yard… along with the FedEx and UPS drivers and the mailman. I know he’s up to something… I just don’t know what yet.

It’s a tough job, but in exchange they provide me with a pretty big dog house, show me love and affection, pick up my s**t, and fill my bowl with food every morning and night - so it’s a pretty even trade. I can’t help that every now and then my inner-wolf just kinda SPRINGS up out of nowhere and I do some crazy s**t. I’m not perfect, but who is?

There’s one thing, though, that really bothers me about this whole arrangement.. I’ll do it every now and then just to keep the peace, or because I’m so desperate for the treat in their hand that my convictions wavers and I forget everything I stand for… but there’s something about this whole “lay down” thing, and I don’t know exactly what it is, but I just it  find so… degrading.

It’s like they’re saying “Bow to your master”, and I’m not okay with that. Sometimes I think they forget all the important jobs I do around here, and that I’m a member of this dog damn family too. I don’t see them waving treats in front of each other’s faces and telling one another to lay down.

It’s pretty messed up. They think I don’t know about doggie years, but I do, and sometimes I just wish I could tell them that I only have about twelve f*****g years, at best, and I don’t want to spend it doing something I find so dog damn demeaning.