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I??™m going to
make you an offer that I??™m hoping you can??™t refuse.
Here??™s the
deal.
I??™m going to
tell you about my dog.
Please read
about her. Then when I see you, you can tell me about your
dog or your fishing trip or your golf game or you can show
me your vacation pictures or photos of your grandkids. I??™ll
listen to you for just as long as it took you to read this
story.
Jerome K.
Jerome said, "He is very imprudent, a dog is. He never makes
it his business to inquire whether you are in the right or
in the wrong, never bothers as to whether
you are going up or down life's ladder, never asks whether
you are rich or poor, silly or wise, sinner or saint. You
are his pal. That is enough for him."
I have vowed
to be more like my dog.
No, not in
that way.
Not in that
way either.
Each day when
my faithful canine companion goes outside, she is so excited
to see the outdoors.
She can??™t
wait to sample the new day.
She rejoices
in having another chance to walk the earth.
I need to be
more like my dog.
My faithful
canine companion??™s name is Towhee. She??™s a Heinz 57. I knew
her mother, but her father was an anonymous giver. I
believe her to be half-pit bull and half-poodle. She??™s a
vicious gossip. It doesn??™t bother her not being a
purebred. She??™s happy that she doesn??™t have to wear a
sweater.
She is the
official greeter at the Batt Cave. She??™s like an
over-zealous, drooling Wal-Mart greeter. She??™s a good dog,
but she does have her bad habits. I have my bad habits,
too.
She eats
things that she shouldn??™t. I do, too.
She snores.
So do I.
She??™s a few
pounds overweight. So am I.
She likes
tennis balls. I like meatballs.
She likes the
sound of the refrigerator door opening. I like the sounds
of Billie Holiday and Louie Armstrong.
She licks
herself in front of company. I lack the flexibility.
She has
conspiracy theories involving squirrels. I have conspiracy
theories involving lutefisk.
The dog and I
are sensitive, caring creatures. We both cry when my wife
leaves the house with the credit card.
Towhee is no
Rhodes Scholar. She??™s more of a roads scholar. She loves
going for rides. She goes with me when I haul our
recycling. She may just sit in the car, but to her it??™s
like a trip to Disney World.
She doesn??™t
play tug-of-war. She doesn??™t like confrontations. If you
try to play keep-away with her, you keep it.
She knows how
to sit and how to shake. She turned down a scholarship to a
fine Ivy League obedience school.
She makes up
for whatever she lacks with her boundless enthusiasm. She
is always happy to see me when I come home. She jumps and
runs in circles. It??™s her patented spin-move. It??™s her
dance. Her dance of joy.
I say a
little prayer each day, wherein I ask to become the kind of
man my dog thinks I am.
Andy Rooney
once said that the average dog is a nicer person than the
average person.
Towhee has
never told a lie. She doesn??™t complain, except when I
forget to let her back in the house. She doesn??™t sulk or
bear a grudge. She forgives, quickly and completely. To
err is human. To forgive is canine. She never worries about
who will be winding her wristwatch after she??™s gone.
If I make a
fool out of myself??”-a specialty of mine--Towhee makes a fool
out of herself. That??™s a friend. She??™s a good listener and
gives me good advice. She talks to me, but never when
others are around.
Towhee
expects good things to happen to her. She is like Seneca,
who said, "Nothing is so wretched or foolish as to
anticipate misfortunes. What madness is it to be expecting
evil before it comes." Towhee would have liked the old Roman
philosopher. Plato said that a dog has the soul of a
philosopher.
To Towhee,
the whole world is a smell and each day is a wonder. Each
stroll into a different room offers an endless variety of
pleasant surprises.
Towhee is
happy being a dog. Her tail-wagging optimism is something
to be emulated.
Towhee is
just happy to be alive and to have people who love her.
I feel the
same way.
?©Al Batt 2005 |
