OK, I have to admit, if you fancy yourself an attention-seeker, the canine life is rather satisfying.
Whether strolling the neighborhood with my human pets, or lounging with my pals in the park (long gone are the days of running … too rough on my osteoarthritis), I cannot stride ten feet without some stranger gushing, asking my humans if they can pet me — as if my arthritis-free Two-Leggers had the power to make such a decision.
But I digress.
At every turn I have new folks turning their attention to me, fawning over my every need.
And that’s when the gibberish starts.
“Hello! Hell-O! You’re such a good boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are!”
I cannot tell which is worse — the puppyhood memories revived by such babytalk (“Oh … my … goodness, where-am-I-what’s-happening-why-am-I-all-wet?!”) …
… or the feeling of self worth oozing out my paws. (“Am I incompetent? Am I visibly drooling? Have I unknowingly fulfilled my lifelong fantasy of marking the human’s mother-in-law’s foul-smelling sofa?” … Imagine one of those plug-in scent machines, a dryer sheet, and spicy pepper all rolled into one. Yeah, you’d take a swipe at overwhelming that stench, too.)
It’s enough to make a self-respecting dog let a frisbee go unretrieved.
I know I’m a dog. In my years, I have grasped this concept.
But I am not a human child. I am not helpless.
Is it too much to ask that you not speak down to me as if I were?