I had a labrador once, growing up. Everyone thinks their dogs are the best, and I am no exception. Look at this face and tell it that you do not think it's the best:
We called her Bella. She liked spaghetti. She was trained to not go past the point where the kitchen tile turned into the family room carpet. She excelled at digging and barking and generally being a dog. She lived to a ripe age of 13.
Since then I haven't owned any pets, except briefly a cat. She showed up outside our apartment door one day, mewing and looking pitiful. We took her to get a bath and then to the vet. If we were going to keep her, she would have to be an indoor cat. Her name became Bacon:
Sadly, this arrangement couldn't last as it became clear that two of us were far too allergic. Bacon was adopted by Russians. Her name changed to Behkon, I like to think she sits on a pillow and eats caviar all day.
So, by process of elimination I am a dog person (I also eliminated fish, but that is a different story). I hope to adopt a dog whenever I decide to become a real adult with a stable job and a yard. In the meantime, I came across this poem written by Billy Collins, or rather by his deceased dog:
The Revenant
I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.
When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.
I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair to eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.
I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.
I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.
You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.
The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.
While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all of my strength
not to raise my head and howl.
Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place
except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner--
that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and all the others in prose.
