It's a new year and to start it out I would like to address some observations on an important aspect of society: dogs.
This isn't out of the blue, I assure you. Every day I walk to class and every day I pass a little park for people and their dogs. This is the most stressful part of my journey, since it means there might be an encounter with someone walking their dog(s) to or from the dog park. And if you've ever been trapped on a sidewalk with an incoming dog-walker, you know there are two options: the dog will be well trained or interested in a tree and leave you alone, or it will hone onto you in bounding leaps to suck on your fingers or scramble up your torso.
Obviously, the first option is what you usually hope for. If it's the second option then all sorts of ugly complications might ensue. You're faced with the dilemma of having to deal with a dog on you and trying to get away with moderate etiquette. The owner might smile apologetically and pull the dog away (or in the case of the leash-less, bark at the dog until the role of master and servant becomes confused). Some dog owners might even expect you to complement their canine companion, stuff like "Oh, your dog is so beautiful!" (You don't know what that thing is), or "Oh, what a shiny pelt he has!" (You don't actually notice anything about the pelt, and you figure the odds of it being male feels better) or "Oh, his drool will dry nicely on my pants!" (These pants are no longer your favorite pair).
It's a stressful situation, one I'm tempted to remedy by feigning panic and leaping to the side, yelling, "I'm allergic! I'm allergic!" But of course, animals and especially dogs are attracted to people who don't like them, so that and loud noises might not be the best escape plan. The Canine Conundrum remains unsolved.
As I walked to class today, a boxer dog met me from across the fence and stared at me. He then pooped, taking his luxurious time, and then sprinted off in proud accomplishment. I sighed and walked on. I was nearing the end of the dog park when he bounded near the fence again to stare at me and once again lower his haunches to defecate.
"Thank you, dog," I said. "Thank you for lending me this insight into your pooping process."
"You're welcome!" he said, and then he bounded off again.
I forgot to mention it, but I can speak Dog. I took a class at CSU on it during last summer; it isn't a complicated language. The dialects can be tricky (the conjugation of verbs in Arf is vastly different than the conjugation in Woof, for some reason). After that I spent my time trying to find insights on life from dogs, perhaps gain the nature of happiness from these simple animals. Sadly, most of them are like children who've been hit on the head with aluminum bats so not much could be gleaned. Also, German shepards are just rude.
Eventually dogs knew me as a person fluent in Dog, so knowledge spread word of muzzle and one day I found dogs at my front door, interrupting my TV program. I answered the door and found a collie staring up at me.
"Quick," she said, "there's a fire in Old Town!"
I knew this old story, dogs sending for help, etc., etc., but I was too tired to put on my cape and stop the fire myself, so I merely called 911 and notified the police to get the firefighters right over. I shut the door and went back to watching "American's Next Top Model". Not two minutes later the doorbell rang. Annoyed, I answered it. A golden retriever stared up at me.
"Quick," he said, "there's a bank robbery going on?"
"At which bank?"
"All of them!"
So I sent the dog on his way and dialed 911. It took some convincing and charm, but I explained to the lady on the other line that, yes, all the banks were currently being robbed and, yes, my source of information was a golden retriever, I speak Dog, no, they teach a course at CSU, yes, really, it was a lot of fun although the conjugation of verbs in Arf is vastly different than the conjugation in Woof, for some reason, oh I know, yeah, wow, yeah, uh huh, uh huh, haa ha ha, no, no, I was watching "America's Next Top Model", oh I think Whitney will win, yeah, thanks, you too. And then I sat down and watched TV.
Just as the commercials ended, of course the doorbell rang again. I swung open the door, ready to kick the first dog I sa--
It was a pug dog, so ugly and so cute.
I immediately picked him up and hugged him to my chest. "Pug!"
"Quick," he snuffled, "the mailboxes are rebelling!"
I held him away from my chest. "What?"
"Yeah! They're barfing out mail and stuff, that's illegal right? You better call all the postal workers and get them out here to fix them and stuff!"
And then I saw a fire truck careening down the street, a dalmatian at the wheel and several poodles scrambling to hold onto the hoses and ladders. I stepped outside to see chaos had broken out. While the police and firefighters had scrambled out to put out fires and put down bank robbers, their bases of operation had been unguarded, leaving them free to the whims of the dogs. Now they controlled the streets.
I saw a Bull Mastiff in a police hat running down the sidewalk with a string of sausage links trailing behind him and a handcuff jangling on his leg. Over there a chihuahua sat in a parked police car, watching for speeders behind reflective aviators. Another careening firetruck passed by and the chihuahua turned on his sirens and drove into a wall. A Boston terrier ran by with an AK-47 on his back. Somewhere, something very large and expensive blew up.
"A bunch of colorblind dogs driving," I said. "I wonder if that's safe."
"So, yeah," the pug dog sneezed into my shirt. "You should go call the mail people."
"You're not getting into our mail system. Bad dog." I held him close again and went back inside. I snuggled with him on the couch and finished watching my program. Whitney won. And for that one magical summer, I let the dogs rule the town.
Y'know, I learned something today. Dogs may seem like dumb happy-go-lucky creatures, but they're actually dumb happy-go-lucky creatures with brilliant plans that usually involve dumb happy-go-lucky goals. So the next time you're eating at the table and you look down to see a dog staring up mournfully at you, be aware that it isn't just an obvious ploy for food. That dog is actually manipulating you, getting inside your head. See how long you last.
That lesson was like a dog.
