Woof. That’s all I, as a dog, can say, right? Wrong. Day after day, month after month, year after year, each stupid human believes me and my dogginess to be a dingbat, saying only that one stupid word. Woof. But I can say much more than that. Have you furless idiots ever thought that maybe it’s not me not speaking, but you not hearing? If you opened those squishy pieces of bald skin you call ears once in awhile, you would hear the things I have to say. And I do have a lot to say.
My name doesn’t matter. You humans label yourselves, but us dogs, we choose to sense each other. The smells and feelings bodies emit is enough to know who is who. My whos, the beings I know, are very special people. I love my family endlessly, but sometimes I get fed up with humans. Dogs don’t always like other dogs, but we don’t bicker the way you glabrous beings do. For the six lightrees, or maybe I should say ‘Christmases’ I have seen on this planet, I have had to share only one with another dog.
He is a little white thing they call Rory, and he is supposed to make me less hyper, and he has succeeded to the point of making me melancholy. He annoys me to no end, however, I am teaching him. I know that I will not be around forever. So he must learn his duties. As a dog, he must protect and help our family. He will always be there, but never be needy. I have faith in him. He is a quick learner. When I am gone, I know he will support them, just as I supported them after they lost the big one. His smell still lingers, even though I never met him. In fact, I believe our lives never overlapped. You know who loved that yellow dog? Daddy. You know who I love? Daddy. You know who I never can love? Daddy.
Us dogs don’t have a very good sense of time, but I know it has been a very long time since Daddy moved out. Longer than it takes for my people to open the door, longer than it takes for my hard pellets of food to hit my bowl, even longer than it takes for them to come home every day. You don’t know how scary it is, day after day, for humans to leave us all alone. Imagine if you were locked up in a bedroom all by yourself for… well, I don’t know, but a long time! It’s awful! But something even more awful? The man who named you, raised you, and loved you just leaves. Goodbye forever, with no warning. My Daddy is my protector, and I am his. I will never feel full again. It’s like I’m breaking inside.
I felt the tension before they did. Us dogs can sense that. We feel things, things that aren’t even there. I think maybe humans used to feel them too, but much like the thing they call evolution in which they pride themselves for creating dogs, they breed the ability to have compassion out of themselves. I am not as clueless as they think I am. I know what’s going on. They call it a divorce, but I call it broken. If our little group was a piece of glass, we were thrown on the gray and brown linoleum many a dog has peed on, and shattered. But that doesn’t mean my life sucks, exactly. I still have Girl and Mom and Boy.
I do like Girl quite a bit. We are perfect together. Her small frame fits perfectly curved around my back. It’s like we were made for each other. I love her so much, but lately I feel as if she is starting to forget about me. I suppose compared to a puppy she calls anything but, her nicknames for him ranging from Porky to Squirrelly, I could be boring. All she likes to do is point at him with her glowey speak box and cuddle him. I just wish she saved some of her time to adore for me. Now all I get is a quick pat on the head and “my sweet prince”. For once, I would like to be “cuddle bug” or “cutie pie” with an intense hug instead of the pup.
At least Boy likes me more than that despicable little biting thing. He appreciates me. He thinks the pup is awful because of his little bites and scratches, just as he despised me when I was just a wee thing. I love the affection, but sometimes it can be a bit smothering. I just want a happy medium. The boy, he needs to learn to love the small one. One day, that terrible little white ball of fur will be all he has. I can’t let them, all of them, become lonely. A family doesn’t just have a dog. They are a dog family. There were dogs before me, and there will be dogs after me.
Humans, the big ones especially, seem to think that we dogs don’t know anything. They think we just eat, sleep, poop (and eat it) and ruin furniture. We are very intelligent. In fact, we do a lot of things. We can talk, but we can also listen. We hear your words. We just don’t choose to listen. Your words our sharp and harsh, like a slick razor-sharp block of steel. Ours are, well, softer, like a warm cozy blanket or, better yet, a warm cozy pot of beefy stew. They create different ways of talking to separate them as a species into groups based on the color of their naked skin. They try to dominate over each other, a never ending cycle of who’s alpha. The pale ones especially try to be better than the others, a nonexistent superiority only they believe in. Their words are the sharpest of them all, like a small whip that cracks on the back of whoever they choose to squeal at. They use the beauty of words to hurt instead of help. They play a game, one only they find fun, where they see who can shout the loudest. Their voices overlap into a tightly woven scratchy wool blanket, but to them it’s made of soft silk.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we were one lifeform? No divide between species’, or more obviously, no divide within species. My wish is that one day, everyone will learn to love each other. It’s not really that hard. We dogs are known for our ability to care for everything no matter who or what it is. You just look past the appearance, the clothes and the hair, the crusty outer edge of cruelty that you depilated creatures love about yourselves, you will see something deep inside. I don’t know if you know this, but it’s called emotion. If you feel unloved, look deep within yourself and find it. Show it off. Embrace it. Find it in others. Ponder it. Complement it, even. Most importantly, just love.