Yesterday was one of those blustery February mornings when a storm comes in from the Pacific and seems to dump the contents of the ocean on Northern California. It’s a steady drizzle until you step out of the car, then the deluge.
I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to shower or dress. I didn’t want to go outside. When I was ready to leave, I looked around my bedroom where the dogs were nestled in the warmth of comforters, sound asleep. What a hard knocks life.
Furry little parasites.
“Don’t anyone bother to get up and see me off, as I go out in the frozen tundra to earn money to support you in the manner in which you seem to be accustomed,” I said.
The speech was a bit cliché ridden but delivered with passion, even if I was just giving it to dogs. Misty the Alpha Poodle got the sarcasm.
She followed me into the kitchen. I thanked her for being a loyal dog and gave her a Milkbone. She scampered down the hall and crunched it at my bedroom doorway. Loudly.
This morning all the dogs were in the kitchen when I was leaving. I wasn’t sure whether it was because they finally appreciated my efforts or…
Oh, who am I kidding? They were all looking at the cabinet where the Milkbones are kept.
I have to wonder what the relationship between humans and dogs would have been over the centuries if we hadn’t been a food source.