Slouching away the miles in relative comfort leaves the real ‘Dood’ plenty of pondering time. And what better to ponder than the foibles of my two traveling companions—the pretend Dude and the Dame.
The thing I find most annoying in the magnification of 24/7 exposure is the way they use me to talk to each other. They don’t seem to get that I only know 3 human words; Dexter, cookie and walk, I choose to ignore the other ones that mean I’m in trouble.
“Dexter, go see pops. He’ll get your dinner this time; take you for a pee this time, yada yada.”
Or “Dexter, I can’t help it if pops is a bad dog owner.”
And what does pops reply?
“Dexter likes me better.”
And so it goes on. And on. And on. I mean, why bring me into their petty squabbles why not do what me and my pals do, work it out with a quick roll in the grass, a few chest bunts, fake snarls and it’s all good.
The Dame should know better on this the 16th year of their marriage. We all know the pretend Duke is narcissistic and totally untrainable. I found that out even as a puppy. And I was a cute puppy, as some of you will remember, all curly and cuddly. Even so, I had to work my life around his schedule.
The Dame? Now that’s a different story. I knew I had her at first bark. Pretty soon she was opening the door on signal whenever I wanted to lift my leg in the orchard. It didn’t take long before I could get her total attention anytime I wanted. I even started sticking my wet nose in her face in the morning to wake her up for my morning stroll. I think she liked it.
Art Linklater had it right when he said people are funny. Or was that the balding guy from Candid Camera. Whatever, they’re both before my time.
When I go for my daily pee strolls with the Dame I can pretty much do as I please. Walk on either side, pull on the leash. It takes maybe four or five real annoyances before the Dame gets harsh. That’s something you don’t want to see, trust me on that, so I generally don’t push it too far.
The rare time the pretend Dude takes me for a pee I have to walk on his left side, at his exact pace. We all know the guy’s obsessive but he takes it to the extreme. Speed up or slow down an inch either way and he’s all over me. How stupid is that? I mean, I like the guy, he’s my pops, but we all know he’s out there a bit.
Its common knowledge The Dame is ‘the Queen of small talk’. She talks to me nonstop. Sometimes I’d like to tell her to put a cork in it, especially when she starts talking down to me in that baby talk voice “Dexter’s such a handsome puppy.” “ Is puppy thirsty?” “Poor puppy couldn’t do his business.” It’s hard to do your business when you’ve got the Dame standing there with bag in hand waiting for a treasure to drop.
Think about it. Here I am a large, middle age dog blessed with considerable physical stature, (I turn seven this week if anyone wants to send along a treat.) and she treats me like a baby. And doesn’t she just love it when the poofter dog people in the RV parks comment on my looks. You’d think they were talking about her.
Don’t get me wrong. I love mumsy to bits. She’s my master’s master.
On those infrequent occasions when the pretend Dude takes me on the RV park rounds he makes me do that stupid walking thing. He rarely speaks to anybody along the way and when we get to a sufficiently secluded area he sits on a picnic bench lights a cigar and stares off into the distance. He could care less whether I’m constipated or not. No baby talk from that guy.
Like Allan Funt the balding guy said. (It just came to me, it’s weird what comes to mind if you have enough time to ponder.) People are funny.
P.S. Don’t forget to send along those birthday treats.