It's a Dog's Life

One of the things I really enjoy, is walking my dog, patting my dog, rumbling with my dog. Either close to home or packing her in the car and going to my sister's where there are two other labradors that enjoy a rambunctious romp and getting as wet and dirty as possible.

I just watched a TV show on our multicultural channel about people on 5th Avenue in New York and similar selubrious addresses, they live in luxurious apartments and pay dog walkers to take their pampered pooches into Central Park three times a day. Apart from the unpleasant pooper scooping it looks like a pretty nice job. Chocolate labradors, standard poodles, Bichon Freise and the usual pyjama cases (any dog less than 20cm tall with long hair that should really have a zip down the middle for you to stuff you're nightie in). They get paid $600 a week . . to walk a dog! I'm in the wrong job! Then there are dog nannies, dog chefs, dog groomers, owners of doggy birthday party venues (you get to keep the balloons for $250). I'm talking US dollars here . . . it was funny but it did point out the fact that we do so much for our dogs whilst the poor canines in other countries are considered food, not to mention the plight of humans.

We think little about the bush dog, armoured to protect it from being attacked by pigs, or the country dog that survives, chained when it's not working, on castrated testicles and table scraps or the guide dog that knows it's working once the harness is engaged, or the police or sniffer dog that will do just about anything to be rewarded with a rolled up hand towel and play.

When I die, I want to come back as a rich man's dog . . . As a dog lover, I spoil my pooch. It's obscene . . .but I still do it. ThePrincess sleeps on my bed . . . she is my companion, my pal, my live teddy bear . . . . She showers with me, (well once every six months) eats the stuff that the kids don't turn up to eat. (She enjoyed soy basted salmon tail, peas and new potatoes last night because ClareBear preferred a Big Mac) and listens to my pillow talk. I don't really care what people think, she never gives me cheek . . .she sits by me when I'm in tears with an understanding look in her eyes . . she forces me to exercise . . . she barks at marauders (read rabbits) . . . I even spent $3,000 on her to replace a ruptured cruciate ligament when so many other things around the place needed repair. And she's a gun soccer player . . gets a stick in the mouth and rolls a ball around the yard until her nose bleeds. I don't know why they afford us so much pleasure, but they do. I loves me Lily - booyakasha!