My Non-Dog
My dog Sam is something else. I mean it. He definitely not a dog. Not yet anyway.
I suspect this has something to do with the fact that the first year or so of his life was spent as a street dog. Because in his first year of life he didn’t learn normal dog things. He didn’t learn that he’s supposed to LIKE dog food. He didn’t learn what to do when you put a leash on him. He didn’t learn that it’s ok to WANT to go out side the house to pee.
Instead this non-dog of mine thinks that he’s supposed to eat grapes. And mixed-green salad with ranch dressing. And eggs, and garbanzo beans, and soup. And Cheerios. And whatever greasy tacos my husband gives him. And of course, that old stand by, lots and lots of cat food. But dog food? Why ever would he eat that?
And instead of wanting to go outside when it’s time to pee he’d rather hide under the bed or under the coffee table and suffer a full bladder. We literally have to drag him out the door when we suspect it’s time. And if it’s raining out? Oh, then you’d think we were torturing his eternal soul, he’d rather have his bladder bust than have to set foot out in the rain.
As for the leash, well he’s learning quickly that leash means walk (or run) and that means fun, and so he’s learning how to walk on a leash, almost like a real dog.
Now my last dog, she was a REAL dog. She ate dog food and everything. And if SHE ever, for one second, thought that I was maybe possibly going to put on my running shoes then she would tackle me in her excitement to go out for a run.
But Sam, my man, you are not a real dog yet. You have not made the connection between running shoes and going running. It’s not that hard boy. In fact my running shoes are the only shoes I own that have laces, it’s all in the laces boy. Sometime maybe you’ll get there. About when you start liking dog food, right? Right, of course, sure.
