Man’s Best Friend?
I was chillin’ out on my pool deck enjoying the warm rays of magnificence Mother Nature had cast upon me. Juxtaposed to me was my favorite salted cured meat sandwich – pastrami on rye with Swiss cheese.
All the neighborhood kids were in the pool playing and splashing about. I took one bite of my heavenly cuisine and decided to play a joke on the children. You see, I am a 6’ 3” man tipping the scales at a little over 300 pounds.
Well, I moseyed over to the diving board, took a running start. I bounced as high as I possibly could and when I landed in the water, a sonic boom was heard, and about 50% of the pool water was displaced outward. With the water, of course, went the children.
They flew out of the pool like popcorn popping in a popcorn maker. Orville Redenbacher would be proud. Some of the poor tikes landed up in the nearby tree. I got myself out of the pool and the moms started pummeling me mercilessly.
Clearly, these folks have no sense of humor. I called out for my dog as I take on blow after blow while curled up in the fetal position. I looked up on the deck and there he was, man’s best friend. He was lying in my pool chair kicked back with his legs crossed. He took a big bite of my sandwich and winked at me.
Footnote: Dog for sale.
Boy’s Best Friend
Little Joey Peterson suffered from an aneurism when he was just three years old. His prognosis was less than promising as he would experience seizures and undoubtedly strokes for the rest of his life – unless a cure was discovered.
While he was in the hospital, therapeutic dogs would visit the children and Joey begged his parents for a dog when he was to return home. His parents agreed and this kept everyone’s spirits vibrant and hopeful.
Joey’s mom adopted a dog that was on a “kill list” at the local shelter. The dog’s name was ‘Magic’ and the name turned out to be quite fitting. It soon became clear that this particular dog had the amazing ability to predict every seizure minutes before it happened.
Whenever a bout with a seizure was about to occur, Magic would get a bit excitable and whimper while pinning his body up against Johnny’s. When this occurred, the boy would know that he should sit or lay down as to avoid injury due to falling.
Humankind has only scratched the surface of the tightly woven tapestry of dogs’ capabilities. They know when a woman is pregnant, they can smell cancer, and God only knows what other special gifts they possess.
I don’t know if every dog has a different personality, but Buddy is as dynamic as an Oscar award winning movie. Even 007 can’t pull off the secret agent bull that this dog effortlessly throws out of his rear. Matter of fact, this guy has to get his way or there’s hell to pay. I mean: “Come on, dog! How many times do I have to tell you that this food I’m eating will not end up in your bowl?!” The stares I get from him go from simply loving “can I have a little?” to “I’m waiting for you to die quickly so I can get my cut from the will!” It makes no difference to me, dog. You can wag that tail til your backside takes you up like a helicopter. The putting your head on my lap trick doesn’t work, either!
Oh… And the nerve of this dog. I really don’t ask for much when I walk through the door. A little order, cleanliness, and a welcome greeting from a dog I spent two thousand dollars on. That doesn’t include the wreckage and ridiculous amount of food Buddy can consume. Never thought a 40 LB black lab could suck up food like a black hole on Stephen Hawking’s birthday. I take care of this dog and expect a certain amount of loyalty. If I walk into the house, I know you hear me. Actually, you can hear my car rolling in because it needs a new transmission. Yeah. If you can’t hear that, why can you hear me quietly going to the pantry to get a milkbone? Hmm? I shouldn’t see you in the corner licking your paw or God knows what else. The dog should be right at the entrance, of course. leaving enough room so the door doesn’t hit him in the face. By the way. I’ve witnessed him do the right thing with my wife. When she gets home. I hear his dog collar go all the way to the entrance. I follow him and sure enough — he waits and leaves enough room so the door goes all the way open without hitting him. Abracadabra! A dog appears to give a nice welcome.
Geez! My wife gets all the good treatment. I can’t even get Buddy to listen to an easy, “come here.” Here again, comes this personality. If my wife asks him to come here, he could be in a dream with Beggin Strips falling from the sky; yet, he gets right on up and goes to her with more joy than finding an open fire hydrant. But what happens when I tell this hard head the same thing. “Come here, buddy. Come on. Hey. COME HERE! Nothing. Well. Not nothing. He looks to the side, as if to say, “somebody please help me from going to this madman.” Don’t look away for help, dog. I’m the only one here!
After all that, comes another time when Buddy wants something. After fighting to get him to come to me, he pulls away and goes to the sliding glass door to the backyard then sits in front of it. Somebody needs to go to the bathroom. He finds a way to get away from me to do something I would rather him do outside. This guy! I want to wring his neck all the time, but he’s My Buddy!