2013-08-23 / Commentary

A dog has his say

40–Something

My name is Wags. I’m an eight-year-old Bassett Hound. I live in Columbia with my human parents, two human sisters, one human brother, and one canine sister. Oh, I also share the house with a frog and some hermit crabs, but we won’t count those unless I ever catch them scurrying across the floor.

Anyway, my dad—the guy who usually writes this column— couldn’t think of a subject this week, so I told him I had a few things I could get off my chest.

So, here goes...

My parents constantly complain about my whining (Kind of ironic, eh?). Well, I ask, how else am I supposed to get back in the house? It’s not like I can scratch at the door with the long legs my sister, the Cocker Spaniel, is blessed with.

Can I help it if I’ve got the body of a Labrador and the legs of a Welsh Corgi? I’m the Duck-Billed Platypus of the canine world. I’m like a Tyrannosaurus Rex without the benefit of the big hind legs. You try scratching at the door with the nubs I got from all this great French breeding experiment gone wrong.

What in the world were those folks thinking when they created the Bassett Hound?

Hey, Pierre, vet’s cross a Blood Hound wiz a turtle and see vot vee get. Magnifique! Zis vill vork perfect for ze fox hunt! Really, you expect me to chase down a fox with this body and these legs? That’s like asking Danny DeVito to run down a chicken. It ain’t gonna happen!

Nope, all this body is good for is lying around, which is what I do a lot. Sure, I whine when they leave me alone in the house. But who knows when they’re coming back? It ain’t like I can grab the paper and head to the bathroom like my dad. I can’t even scratch at the door, much less open it. So, I’m left with one option, unless I want to ruin my mom’s favorite rug.

So, I whine. I cry and cry until somebody comes back. I’ve found it’s pretty effective, so I whine for other things too...food, a good belly rub, and a comfortable place to lie... you know, the dog essentials.

I even whine when somebody leaves the room. For some reason, humans think it’s not necessary for all seven of us to be together in one room all the time. Go figure.

Anyway, with all that going on, I admit I may spend a fair amount of time whining, but, hey, I’m still mad about that whole little undercover operation they sprung on me when I was but a pup.

One minute I’m cruising through town hanging my giant head out the car window happily lapping up the fresh air with my abnormally long tongue, and the next minute I’m wearing a cone of shame in the backseat wondering what happened to my manhood. If I can go through that, then these people can certainly put up with a little whining.

Then there’s my canine sister, Daisy. She’s pretty much ruled my world since she came into it several years ago, even though I outweigh her by about 50 pounds. I’m a pacifist, and she’s... well.. let’s just say they don’t call female dogs that word for nothing. She’ll fuss and growl at me if I try to take a lap from her, and she doesn’t much like playing with me, but I know she loves me. Otherwise, she wouldn’t spend so much time licking my eyeballs. Of all the things to focus on, and she picks those. Well, who can understand the female mind?

I’ve got other stuff to... well... whine about, but I guess I’ve run out of space.

C’est la vie. It’s time for a nap anyway.

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