I kind of feel bad for my dog.
Meet Huxley. He’s a corgi—allegedly, anyway. His hobbies include eating, walking, and barking. He loves running after things, but can’t seem to grasp the concept of the game ‘fetch.’ I love him.
He’s also kind of an ingrate. Seriously, the sense of entitlement on this thing is unbelievable. He acts like he owns the food that we give him. He throws a bitch fit (pun intended) every time we leave the house in order to procure the money that purchases the food in question.
See, until today, I thought he had a pretty good life.
I mean, come on. It’s seven o’ clock in the morning. I woke up early to make sure that he was walked, and now have to travel on the train to my job that I don’t want to go to while he gets to stay home, and on top of that I have to listen to him barking like a savage and waking up the neighbors even though we both know I’m obviously coming back later. Who’s really the victim in that situation?
I always thought it was me. Now I kind of see what he’s been bitching about. (Okay, I’ll stop.)
I got to stay home from work today because of a few inches of snow. Yesterday, I was counting my lucky stars. Today, instead of waking up at five, I woke up at ten thirty. I’m still in my pajamas. My Think Tank is a half a day late. I’ve done nothing all day except eat, shovel, and drink an obscene amount of coffee.
Turns out, staying in the house by yourself all day is unbelievably depressing.
It’s a disturbing thing to think about. If you resent the thing that gets you out of the house every day, and you resent staying home all day doing nothing, then what’s the solution? Nothing? Are we caged no matter what we do?
At least the only thing keeping us cooped up in the house on a day off is ourselves. If you think that’s bad, imagine how much worse it is for the dogs.
Good doggie!