Today I am stealing something from an e-mail I am sure you all have seen…
If you can start the day without caffeine,
If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it,
If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,
If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,
If you can ignore a friend's limited education and never correct her/him,
If you can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend,
If you can conquer tension without medical help,
Ifyou can relax without liquor,
If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,
Then you are probably the family dog!!
This is definitely The Fonz. He has a cake life. I feel bad for him sometimes though, for example, I am going to Florida for the weekend. Workaholic can entertain himself, but poor Fonz is just stuck at home, same old shit, different day. Lots of sleeping on the couch in the basement. And shedding on the couch in the basement. He did finally get shaved for the summer…he looks so handsome. And when he comes out from the back of the groomers…he is literally prancing. Like a little girl showing off her new tutu. Yes, I just compared my male dog to a little girl.
But back to how pathetic his life is…this is my nightly routine.
Every night I come home from work and go to the bathroom and change my clothes. At some point, after a few minutes, Fonz will come a wandering in. His tail is wagging, and he has a smile on his face, but you can tell that he is slightly annoyed. You see, he has known that I have been home for at least a few minutes, and when he realizes that I am not coming to greet him, he decides to drag his blond butt off the couch to grace me with his almighty presence. (Which is always when I am sitting on the toilet.)
Besides, I probably woke him up and he has to pee. So I then let him out, and he pees and then comes running joyfully back inside, like something wonderful is about to happen. This is the something wonderful. I get my snack ready, (lately chocolate milk and peaches), and he lies by the fireplace watching me intently during the snack preparation. If I make a move towards the cookie jar on the counter, that yes, is filled with dog treats, he is on it, ready to spring to my side should I actually take the lid off. (what?? it has a nameplate with his name on it, so of course his treats are kept in there!! It was a Christmas gift from my brother-in-law a few years ago. Yes, my family knows that getting me a gift for the dog is just like getting a gift for me). I then pick up my snack, and as soon as I take a step away from the kitchen, he is on his feet, trotting to the basement stairs. He will stand there until I actually tell him to go down or head down myself, and he then positions himself in the exact same spot on the couch that he vacated so begrudgingly only minutes before. We then watch a little TV, and at some point he will crawl up next to me and allow me to pet him for a few minutes. Keep in mind if I stop giving satisfactory affection, he stands up, stretches, farts in my face, and goes to lay in a huff in front of the fireplace.
Last night was a good example of what happens when Workaholic gets home. We eat dinner, the whole time feeling Fonz’s eyes burning holes in our backs, as he watches for any movement of a free scrap. He is polite about it, laying across the room, but when I go to put my dish in the dishwasher, he stands, begging with his eyes to lick the plate. And how can you resist?? So I give him the plate, as does Workaholic. Keep in mind now that if I place the plate on the floor in front of me, he just stares at it. Or if we hold it in the air from our chairs (because we are just too lazy to get up) at the appropriate height for maximum licking efficiency while he is standing, he just looks at you like you have lost your mind. He is actually offended and backs away if I put the plate right in front of his face. The plate must be placed on the rug in front of the fireplace, but not too close to him, so as to not crowd him. (So if you ever come to eat at my house, I hope you don’t mind dishwasher washed plates that have been licked by a dog also.)
Once dinner is over and plates have been licked and placed in the dishwasher, Workaholic tries to play with The Fonz. And if he gets too rough, Fonz runs and hides behind me. And by too rough I mean staring at him too intently. Turns out the dog is kind of a wuss. When it is time for bed, the petting routine is repeated, complete with fart (or burp) and huff.
My dog, for having as unexciting a life as he does, is really kind of a snob.