Dog Days My Fuzzy Butt!

They continue to repeat that old cliché about the dog days of summer, but I see nothing to indicate that these days belong to me. I am a slightly chubby multi-colored fluff of a dog who most people say is adorable, but I have seen more days belonging to someone other than myself than I have belonging to me this summer. The humans are constantly on the move in their attempt to avoid the heat while I languish at home on the warm carpet trying to catch a breath of cool air from the air conditioner. Yesterday they went to the community pool where there are, of course, no dogs allowed. All four of them (my human mom and my three human brothers) came home smiling and giggling about a man at the pool who lost his bathing suit to a cannon ball. Today they are at the movie theater soaking up someone else’s air conditioning and eating loads of delicious, buttery popcorn. I did not even get to hear what movie they went to see as that was apparently discussed in the air-conditioned car while they laughed their way to the theater. In a way, I sort of hope the movie is either filled with unwatchable horror or with characters so unrealistic that no one would believe the plot. Even me, had I been invited along.

While we are on the subject on dog abuse, I would also like to mention the unholy mess around my water bowl. Yes, the human lady does put down a colorful and absorbent rug under my water bowl, but that is it! Well, she also does clean my water bowl daily and sometimes even puts an ice cube or two in there on the days when it is so hot that the water faucets should be labeled “hot” and “boiling” instead of hot and cold. But there are times when I slurp up that delightfully cool water so quickly that a few random drops do end up on the rug. The human mom does not even clean the rug immediately after I slurp. I do not see her leaving spills for later that she or the human brothers create.

And I hesitate to bring up the subject of my dietary needs, but I will! Let us start by stating that the mom’s idea of dinner is almost the polar opposite of mine. Would you like to eat small chunks of what looks, smells, and even tastes a bit like burned wood? I did not think so. The mom lady sometimes has some extra food that the boys, who normally eat like vultures, did not finish and she generously gives me a bite or two mixed in with my burned wood-like kibble. Even though I sometimes do not care for what she adds to my otherwise beleaguered food bowl, I gobble that stuff right up. The other night they were dining on the most delicious-smelling pork chops that were clearly grilled to perfection. Oh my dog! The aroma was almost too good to be real. I waited (somewhat) patiently like a good boy by my food bowl for a small taste of that grilled goodness. Nope. The little gluttons ate every last morsel. But last night I was rewarded with some broccoli. Clearly no one’s favorite, including mine, but it did add a little variety to my otherwise uninspired diet. I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

Last week, to my revulsion and dismay, one of the human brothers brought a scrawny, noisy, pathetic-looking kitten home. Where are that boy’s brains? Everyone knows that dogs and cats never mix. Of course, the boy and the kitten simultaneously sent pleading looks to the human mom, then whined and begged for the kitten to be allowed to stay. Dude must have practiced the “look” with the kitten on the way home as they were in complete sync with the looks, the whining, and the begging. That skinny miniature feline has the absolute most pitiful meow I have ever heard. Good grief, if it must make noise, I would prefer an actual cat-sounding racket. Needless to say, I now have a four-legged sister in my life. In a burst of inspiration the boys have named her “Kitty.” Thankfully, they were too young to attempt to come up with a name for me. Who wants to spend their entire life being called “Puppy?” Anyway, that sad, boney kitten has sucked up all the attention of my brothers and I am left with a random pat on the head when I am within reach. Kitty has a new little bed of her own, several small balls and stuffed mice, and special food that she easts as if each meal were her first and last. The smell of that stuff is enough to make even a gourmet such as myself want to walk away from the room. Kitty must have extra taste buds in place of her smelling abilities otherwise I’m not sure how she could eat that stuff. Apparently, it tastes good which is something I will never personally know. How long do cats live anyway? I am hoping that the rest of my life is not ruined by living with a feline sister.

By now, I have hopefully conveyed to you the reason “Dog Days” means less than nothing to me. I will note though that I do get dinner every night, I do get a pat or two on my head or back on a daily basis, and I do have my own bed even though I choose to sleep on the mom lady’s bed most of the time. My home is air-conditioned and I can lie on the cool tile in the kitchen if I choose (but only when no one else is home. I hope Kitty doesn’t tattle on me about that). So. . .while I whine about the bogus “Dog Days”, I am whining from the viewpoint of a fed, watered, patted, air-conditioned dog!