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The Roxie monologue |
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Friday, 22 February 2008 |
Up Close and Personal
By Clint Hyde
Don’t you think this newspaper has gone to the dogs lately? Not only is there a regular column written by a dog named Sundance, but there is also an advice column [Ask Inca] for dogs who write in, asking help on how to get along with new owners after being released from the pound, changes in diet and even lost love.
Dog owners, dog lovers, pet sitters and all the rest of you, listen up. You are talking to us all the time, but I don’t think you hear us. Sure you feel good when going out the door, saying “Guard the house, take care of mama/papa while I am gone.” But as soon as you come back home and I start barking at the coyotes you want me to be quiet. When I sense danger and you are not around, do you think nobody hears? Sure I bark when you are not home, acknowledging the neighbors’ dog walking by or the wild animals howling at the moon. But I know I am just talking to myself. If a tree falls in the forest and you are not around, you don’t hear it, do you?
When we go for a walk you don’t understand that I can smell what the dog before me had for dinner and probably what he drank the day before. But no, you pull me along, saying “come on, we are on a walk.” Whose walk is this anyway? Would you be out here by yourself in ten degree weather with a wind chill of minus fifteen? I doubt it. It’s all about me — that’s why you feed me, water me and then take me on “your walk.”
And then when I make a deposit on the snow bank, you hold me on the leash and complain that I won’t hold still so you can scoop it up. Hey, I did my part and I know you are going to consider the “walk” over and start for the house. It’s your house rule, by the way that I have to do my duty out here. Have you noticed that I hold out on you? I am not prancing around for my health. I want to enjoy my time outdoors in beautiful Mammoth Lakes. I don’t just come out here to relieve myself.
Every now and then you let me loose. Must be feeling magnanimous today? Then within minutes you start yelling my name all over. I can’t hear you if I find something really good to sniff. I have 5,000 olfactory glands to satisfy. You can’t expect me to hear anything at the same time. That would be multi-tasking on a higher level than you are capable of. I know we have a leash law in this town. When is the last time you saw the animal control officer? Maybe at the post office? Or driving down Main Street? Not walking around our neighborhood looking for errant dogs and unlawful citizens? Ever!
But even worse, did you ever ask me my name? You just gave it to me from day one, without considering I might want a different name or already had a name. I knew a Chihuahua that only spoke Spanish and never responded to Judy or Jackie, or whatever it was. Maybe my name isn’t Roxie, especially when I smell something really good.
And what’s up with all this fine dining in front of me, while you feed me the same thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sure, lamb and liver are good once in a while, but not every day, all day long. You sit there with knife and fork in hand telling me to sit down because I am staring at you. But you don’t get the message. All you care about is the carpet I am drooling on. Try this: get down on your hands and knees next to the table and watch me eat that steak on the plate. Think you won’t drool and leak out of your mouth?
Speaking of the mouth, do you know how horrendous your breath smells? I can sense coffee, wine, fish, cheese (really stinky) and garlic – all at once. And you have the audacity to complain about my breath, especially after I have been on a walk, sniffing other dogs.
You make a lot of noise in the night, but you don’t hear it because you are asleep. But as soon as I find a good spot to lick you tell me to stop and to go back to sleep. Maybe I don’t want any more sleep. I have already put in my 17 hours of dosing and now I want to enjoy myself. Go back to bed, yourself, pull the covers over your head. At least you have covers.
Just because all men with gray beards look alike doesn’t mean all dogs look alike or have identical tastes. Oh sure, black labs resemble black labs and yellow labs resemble yellow labs, but that doesn’t mean we all like the same things. Sometimes we like more food, more exercise or even more play time with other dogs. Play with you is fine, but sometimes we need some dogface time. Besides, you don’t play fair. You pretend you are throwing the ball and then hold it behind your back. Do you think I am stupid?
Thank God you don’t put me in one of those sweaters you humans seem to think looks cute on dogs. We already come with a fur coat. If my birthday suit is not enough for this High Sierra climate I will tell you. Have you ever seen me shiver?
And now the last indignation of all. Why do you make me sit on my haunches while you put a bowl of chow in front of me? Haven’t you noticed that I eat standing up on all four feet? They are feet. I don’t have opposing digitals like you, so I need to be hovering over the food just to get dinner past my lips.
Listen up!
Clint Hyde left home at an early age and lived in Europe before traveling the rest of the world, working in international marketing. He moved to Mammoth in 2002 to pursue mountain biking, snowboarding, backcountry and cross-country skiing, hiking and backpacking. The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily represent policies and opinions of the staff or owners of the Mammoth Times. Reader response is encouraged.
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Last Updated ( Thursday, 28 February 2008 )
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