I like animals. Many people don’t believe this about me, but it’s true .
I like robins and elephants and iguanas and tuna. I like dogs too. I like them all the same.
And I don’t want any of them in my house.
Too quote my sage friend Jeff, “When you live with an animal, you live like an animal.” It’s true . If I sat in a lions den, or a sparrow’s nest, I would expect to smell like a lion or a sparrow after a while.
When I go to a dog lover’s house, I end up with dog hair all over me, and I start to smell like a dog. I don’t particularly care for that. I will admit though, I prefer removing dog hair from my sweater, to wiping dog saliva from my cheek.
For some reason that I don’t understand, people attach human qualities to animals, and then they call them pets. The animals don’t really behave any differently than they would if they were left outdoors where they belong, but their “owners” treat them differently. They give them human names, they talk to them. Sometimes they actually ask them questions, and wait for an answer. Here is a newsflash; they are not going to answer. Ever.
By the way, those dog sweaters are stupid.
Of course, dog lovers will go on about the “companionship,” that their dog offers, but I fail to see it. When I want companionship, I invite my friends over for some beers and poker. Dogs can’t play poker; I don’t care how many velvet pictures of them doing so they sell. Plus, dogs never seem to bring any music or potato chips over, and they never have good stories about how stupid their boss is, or how mean the old lady is.
Not only do they fail to offer any advice or true companionship, they also never chip in for the bar bill like my friends sometimes do, or know any dirty jokes.
People put up with unbelievable inconveniences caused by dogs. My friend Eric once took a crap on somebody’s chair, and he was banned for life from that particular address. But if a dog does that, a human being will clean it up, and will apologize as if he did it himself. Strangely, the owner of the home forgives it.
If you don’t think this is true , go to your friends’ house and let your dog pee on the floor. Wait twenty minutes, and then stand up and take a leak on their rug. Measure the difference.
As for myself, I don’t encourage any creature into my home that is not familiar with bathroom protocol, (except for Eric, who has cut down considerably on his drinking).
Here’s another thing. When I come to your house, I almost never stick my nose into your girlfriends’ crotch, and wait for you to say, “Its okay, he’s just getting to know you.”
I have kept all this to myself for years, but now that people think that they are perfectly within their rights to act like someone is billowing napalm directly into their face if they detect a smoker is within 100 yards of their eight-dollar plate of linguini, I think that I can share my opinion.
I personally find second hand smoke to be far less offensive that crotch sniffing, having my shoes peed on, or watching Fido vigorously tongue-bathe his genitals.
If you have zero friends, and need a dog for a companion, you should consider charm school.
Dogs really don’t pine for your friendship, they just enjoy being waited on, and I think that you would have to admit that having someone pour a can of “Prime Select All Beef” into your monogrammed bowl, is better than spending all day foraging for food, running down squirrels, or dragging a dead possum off the road.
So next time your out for your walk in the park, and your dog runs over to hump my leg, don’t think that I will find it cute. It ain’t cute.
We’ll see how you like it when I return the favor by working out on the leg of your girlfriend.
If I haven’t quite made my point, I would like you to consider how foolish you look when you walk behind your “companion,” with a paper bag, a little shovel, and a smile.