Today's blog is quite possibly the most useless piece of writing in the blogosphere, nay, the internet! So if you read on and get angry with me for stealing 3 to 5 minutes of your time, don't say I didn't warn you.
I've often wondered what Max, the McQueen's dog, is thinking. Probably that life is 'ruff'.
When he barks and barks, he gets in trouble. If he goes completely nuts because of something going on outside, or we need to remove him for a moment because of a guest or something, we take him off to another room where, apart from some noise, he won't be much of a bother. (We let him out as soon as possible, mind you.)
Yet, when we come along and talk at each other, none of us gets taken to another room. Sometimes, especially when laughing, we can be quite loud. As far as the dog is concerned we're just barking at each other. When he does that, he gets in trouble. I bark at Pastor Jack, and Pastor Jack barks back. Then we all bark together. Then Max joins, in and he gets in trouble. This must be upsetting to him.
Now, whenever we're eating, Max wants some of our food. He has to beg for it. But none of us has to beg for food. I wonder if he wonders why we're all so special that we don't have to beg for food. And we get the good stuff, not the stuff he has to eat. And, if he asks me for food, I always make him do something for it; sit down, stay, go to his place, etc. But when Bruce asks me to pass the salt I don't make him do anything.
Perhaps next time we're having dinner and Bruce asks me to pass something to him, I'll make him roll over first. Just to be fair to Max.
Then when it's time to clean house, we don't get scared when the vacuum gets turned on. In fact, we control the vacuum. If anything, the vacuum is scared of us! I wonder if he thinks "How did they get such control over the noisy, tubey, sucky thingie?" Yet, the fact that we're not scared of it seems to be of no comfort to him. Perhaps he thinks that the vacuum cleaner sits between us and him in the pecking order of the house?
We make him sleep on the floor. He's not allowed on the couches or chairs. We tie him up when he goes out, but none of us gets tied up. He answers nature's call in the back yard. Yet, we insist on relieving ourselves right into his porcelain water bowl! Yet, he doesn't seem to mind.
Furthermore, we look different almost every single day. He looks the same everyday. He's got a shaggy white coat. One day I wear black pants, a blue long sleeved shirt, and a tie. The next day, I wear khakis, a short sleeved plaid shirt. I don't know if he is aware of clothes. He doesn't have any of his own. I've often wondered how domestic pets feel about being naked all the time. No protection from the elements.
Actually, I think he does know about clothes. When Jack and Wendy go for a Saturday morning run, he knows that and begs to be taken. And if you're wearing black pants he insists on rubbing up against you.
Then when we take him out for walks he's on a leash. I think he'd rather go free. But we don't let him. So you'd think he'd hate going for walks, constantly being restrained by these big, slow, restraining humans.
Then I noticed when he thinks he's about to go for a walk, and if he knows where his leash is, he might pick it up and bring it to one he thinks may take him for the walk. Perhaps he thinks he's taking us for a walk. He's probably thinking "Please tie this thing to my neck and hold on so I can drag you around the neighbourhood. And try to keep up this time." That is the logical conclusion, considering we walk behind him, pick up his poop, carry it around in little bags and store it in cylindrical receptacles.