Can I have my dog’s life? As I run out of the house in the mornings with three or four different bags – a briefcase stuffed with all the work I brought home to complete, but never, ever, get to; my purse, usually the size of a briefcase so I can fit my coupon holder, note cards, hand sanitizer (stay back swine flu!), calculator, flip-flops and grooming necessities; my laptop and now my writer’s bag, filled with a writing sample, in case I meet an agent or see Oprah – as I carry all these bags, Belle is lazily turning over on her back for me to scratch her belly. By the time I leave the house, she has had her morning walk, her food prepared and some fresh cool water served up in her favorite bowl.
While I’m slaving away at work to foot the bill for her specially made dog treats and doggie spa day, she is at home watching animal planet or sitting in front of the back door sunning herself, or as my hubby says, surveying her kingdom.
In her defense, she fulfills her dog duties by enthusiastically greeting me when I come home, following me around joyously wagging her tail to encourage me and just otherwise looking adorable. The kids in the neighborhood love her and I have had people stop their cars to ask what kind of dog she was and where did I get her. She’s a terrier mix (we think) and we adopted her from a family that was moving and unable to keep her. Her puppy dog eyes, even though she is full grown, and her ability to make you forget her flaws, like chewing on the wall trim and leaving dinner crumbs beside her bowl, are superpowers. If I possessed her talents I could rule the world.