Won’t Somebody Please Think Of The Dogs?

A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster

Your dog needs privacy too.

I realize most of the people who read my columns are of above average intelligence, some even borderline Mensa candidates, but not that many now that I think about it. On the other hand, one or two are a little flaky and might even be Trump Republicans. Whoa! I take that back. Trump Republican, no one should ever say that about another human being.

Occasionally I hear something puzzling, and the thought occurred to me that you (the Mensa group) might be able to help. This week I was listening to an interview with a psychologist. At least I think that is what she said she was, although she might have said psychopath. She taught her dog to read. By read she didn’t claim Spot likes to curl up with a good book and a snifter of brandy every evening. The lady was merely saying her dog recognizes familiar words printed on flash cards. If she holds up ‘SIT’ the dog sits. ‘EAT’ the dog gets out a dozen eggs and whips up a soufflé, stuff like that.

This morning, Mary and I were sitting on the veranda staring off into space. (We have been married 10 years. There is nothing left to talk about.) A lady was walking by with her dog and as you might expect, she was carrying the obligatory plastic bag. It occurred to me that if a dog is smart enough to read is he or she mentally developed enough to feel embarrassment?

Put yourself in the dog’s paws for a moment. How would you feel if every time your mistress took you for a stroll, she took along a little baggie and then, think about this now, watched you?

What must be going through Spot’s mind as he is answering the call of nature?

“Oh God, she is watching me again. I hate that. Granted she pays for the Burger Bits, but does that woman have any idea how I feel about this?  Oh well, here goes. Hmmm, that’s nice soft grass. Now I’ll bury it… she is not… I simply don’t believe this; she is picking it up in a flipping bag. What kind of fruitcake is this woman?  Wonderful! There’s Miss Mew, the Himalayan, watching from the window across the street. I’ll never hear the end of this. She will tell Spike, the bulldog, and he’ll blab it to Angus, the Scotch Terrier and on and on. Tomorrow my name will be the main topic around every hydrant in town.”

And mark Spot’s words, it will too. It makes sense that if dogs can read, then it isn’t much of a stretch for dogs to gossip just like people. Well not me, but others.

I once wrote a column about the dangers of teaching a dog or cat to speak. That is not a clever idea folks! How would you like Fluffy to blab about the argument you and the missus had last night over whether to watch the Blue Jays or a rerun of Seinfeld for the 32nd time? By the way, bringing her mother’s drinking into the conversation was not the brightest thing you ever did.

“How can we help?” you are probably asking yourself. “What can we do? We don’t even know what his problem is, and he certainly has plenty of them.

You can help by treating your pets with dignity, that is how. If you show a little more respect for your dog’s feelings when you are going walkies, then he or she will reciprocate in a like manner. If you don’t stare at Rover while he is doing his business, then Rover will not break wind when the minister and his wife are over for tea. He will still launder himself of course. In a dog’s world ‘cleanliness is next to Godliness.’

If anyone should know that it is the Reverend. A minister is supposed to teach that every Sunday. Not the laundering of your gentiles, just the Godliness part. We can’t just haul out a facecloth in the middle of the 23rd Psalm and start scrubbing away. On the other hand, a little spit bath while the usher is wandering up and down the aisle shaking down the parishioners for cash might be okay. He or she might avoid your pew altogether. Not only will you be money in pocket, but you could even have enough left to drop by the grocery store and pick up another box of Burger Bits.

I think you can see I need help.

(Image Supplied)

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