It's A Dog's Life for Me

I’ve decided that if I ever get reincarnated, I’m coming back as a dog. Preferably a dog owned by me (to ensure maximum comfort, that is).

Dogs are so uncomplicated. They eat, sleep, play, poo and sniff. That’s about it.

They are excited by everything. No matter how many times you walk them around the same block, it’s like the maiden voyage. Every lamppost, pile of leaves and tussock of grass is intriguing and beguiling. They sniff like it’s the first time they’ve ever smelt the ‘eau de urine’ of some previous canine visitor or the waft of rabbit near the showground sheds. It’s all so fascinating!

My dogs wallow like furry hippos in every available puddle, roll in dead fish on the river bank (if given half a chance) and greet everyone they meet with slobbering, wet-pawed enthusiasm. They don’t always get that not everyone wants to be jumped on by a soggy, shaggy mutt; in fact, it never enters their heads. Why would it when they have been led to believe that they are the Supreme Four Pawed Masters of the Universe? (or at least the portion of the universe that extends for a few kilometres either side of their Utopian Doggy Palace -- aka my place).

They are always happy to see you; even if you smell, look like death or are having a really bad hair day. They don’t care if you’re happy, sad, furious, depressed, sane, crazy or drunk. As long as you have one hand that’s capable of scratching their belly while the other locates the dog treats in the pantry, all is right in their world.

The simple joy of gnawing a bone cannot be understated, according to dogs. There is nothing quite like a half-rotten chunk of animal carcass to lift one’s doggy spirits. Better still if it’s been buried for a few 40 degree days in the back yard; thus maximising its gross-o-nomic rating. Ah, the uncomplicated joy!

And what pooch in his right mind wouldn’t turn himself inside out for the opportunity to suck on a pig’s ear for half an hour? Not too many of the ones I know, that’s for sure! And yes, at my place pigs ears are a regular treat. Not to mention liver ‘treaties’, bone biscuits, Schmacko strips and the occasional doggie carob bar.

The downside of such indulgence may well be the future pancreatic misfortune of my hairy kids, so I am trying to keep the fatty stuff to a minimum – but it’s soooo hard! Especially when they look at you appealingly through their fluffy white (Lloyd Bridges) eyebrows or hoist themselves insistently at the back window in an attempt to gain your attention. What’s a smitten doggie owner to do?

Okay, okay, I shouldn’t be such a sucker. I know this is how bad habits are formed, but at least I do make them ‘sit’ before they get their treaties, so I’m not a total pushover, am I?

Oh, and by the way, it’s just not true that they ate a whole couch at the boarding kennels last time they visited. That was a vicious lie. Just because the same thing has been happening to their beds here at home, doesn’t mean there’s any link……

Well anyway, life’s good when you’re a dog. No responsibilities. No bills to pay, dishes to wash, lawns to mow, meals to cook or work to go to. Not a care in the world. Other than perhaps, when you might be getting your next ‘walkies’. And I’m sure mine don’t ever really worry about that either. If they really want a walk they just go nutzoid around the loungeroom for a few minutes and start chomping on the couch. We soon get the message. And they say animals can’t talk!

So, next time around, it’s definitely a dog’s life for me.

Just hold off on the pigs ears okay? For some reason, gnawing on the aural appendage of a dead swine just doesn’t seem to do it for me.

But, then again, I’m not a dog. Yet.