Dogalogue (I)

Ah, it’s morning.  Fuckin’ bright.  Who’s this guy?  Guess I’ll go get a pat off him.  Who is he, anyway?  A gardener?  Always people hangin’ round my yard, doin’ stuff.  Smell ‘em a mile away.  Bah—at least they pat me good.  Most.  The guys that do stuff around here give a pretty damn good pat, too; vigorous.  Not like that goddamn dog walker they pay to take me around the block.  Pansy pat.  No meaning, like the bastard’s just been built to pat and walk.  A robot man.  The doin’ stuff guys have better hands for it, more thorough.  Fuck me—my owners pay someone to walk me.  That’s love, ey.  I feel like an ornament sometimes.  Hey, buddy!  What’s up?  Doin’ the garden?  Cool.  I’m just hanging out.  Can I cuddle up to the side of ya like this?  Sweeeet.  Ahhhhh yeah, that’s the spot.  Cheers.  I love behind the ears.  This is where I live, this yard; but I don’t really like the people that live in that big house.  Ugly house too, ey?  You should see the kids.  No sense of anything but themselves.  They hug me like a doll, for ages.  I snapped at one once but then I had to go to this fuckin’ training school for ages, with this massive bitch getting me to do the dumbest shit.  Honestly.  Imagine if you had someone dealing food out to you to get you to raise your paw, like a human handshake?  Bye-bye dignity.  But you’re hungry, so ya fuckin’ do it.  Lame.  Humans Projecting Onto Dogs 101, they should call the course.  What ya doin’ there, gardener man?  Planting things?  Ah, taking out things.  I shit in there sometimes—sorry.  It’s not personal, but this is my space, ya know.  Gotta do it somewhere.  Alright, well thanks for the pat; lovely, as usual.  I might go over there and sit in the sun with my tongue out panting.  Mmmmm, such a nice day.  I hope those kids don’t come out here and break my peace, hitting that ball back and forth over that netted barrier.  What’s the point?  Don’t they know a ball is for fetching?  Much easier game.  Chuck, fetch, return.  Simple and fun.  Could do it for days.  My favourite part is not quite bringing the ball back.  Ha!  And they think you’re gonna drop it but ya just kind of go near them and keep it locked in your mouth.  Fantastic.  Who’s really fetching here?  Haha.  Silly monkeys.  Might go get some water.  Hope the old lady’s filled it.  Or whoever she pays to fill it.  Hmm, warm.  Ah well, it’ll do.  There she is; god, look at her.  She does nothing but administrate, mediate all the people she pays to maintain her stuff.  Even me.  Lucky to get a superficial stroke on the head from that one—in fact, I reckon she just brought me in here the beginning as a sort of display for the kids.  Made a family, better get a dog.  Shove him in the yard, get people to keep him alive and get on with your life.  At least the kids have innocent curiosity and a bit of love; she, the lady, is a cold one.  I never really see her mate, either.  The old guy.  Always away, probably paying for all this shit.  Probably got a few new mates on the go.  Can’t see this being the most romantic household to come back to.  The place looks like a fuckin’ space station.  No warmth at all, when it comes to human dwellings.  Though I guess that’s just my opinion.  I do live in there though.  Most dogs have a kennel, but these guys let me sleep in a room.  Not bad.  Still, I’d rather a more loving family.  Don’t get me wrong, I get the contact; but it’s sort of like having a whole bunch of friends, but not really being very close to any of them.  People like me, but they never wanna hang out for too long.  I’ve thought of running away, but I’m not sure I’d survive.  Too many threats out there; and of course they’d come looking for me.  Then they’d probably get sad.  Their toy has gone missing.  Probably just order a new one.  And I guess I’d miss the good pats, like from that gardener.  Such deep pats.  You can really feel the love; the good ones smile so much when they see me relaxing and enjoying it, too.  It’s mutual, that process.  Some people seem to get off on the idea that they’re giving something to dogs when they give a thorough pat, but they’re deceiving themselves there.  A good and proper pat is an exchange.  Watch a human giving a dog a good pat and tell me it’s a one-way process.  No way.  They love it.  That’s why the hugs can be so irritating.  Make ya feel like a static object.  I’m not a fuckin’ stuffed bear, kid, get off me.  Won’t snap again though.  Fuck that training school.  Next time someone asks me to shake I’m gonna claw their face.  Haha.  Not really, though.  I’ve heard bad things.  A cousin of mine once told me that a friend of his snapped bad at someone and they took him away forever.  Humans don’t quite get it; they like to punish, even if it’s a situation they can’t possibly understand.  Tough beings, they are.  Sometimes.  Maybe I’ll go back to that gardener.  Good guy.  Doesn’t take his work too seriously.  I reckon he’ll give me another good pat.  Maybe I’ll give him a kiss.

I reckon he’ll like that.