A Dog's Life

Originally printed in "The Bridge" Winter 2008

“Madison!”
It’s a crisp winter’s morn. The scent of burning wood clings to the air and white puffs of steam exhale from my mouth. Quiet. Madison is running at full speed – chasing down the ever elusive rabbit that has burrowed a hole between three neatly groomed yards, and…
Crash! Into the only thing preventing her from actually catching that rascally varmint – our chain link fence.
Of course, I simply can not find it amusing because it’s two freakin’ thirty on the coldest morning ever, and I am in my backyard with my eyes half closed, looking like a cross-dressing Eskimo, whilst my beloved softly slumbers as warm as a baby nestled softly against her mother’s bosom. Meanwhile, my eyelids freeze into an involuntary gunfighter stare, and I am thankful that no one else is outside to join me in the madness.
I mutter to myself, “This whole global warming thing’s a real killer.”
On this fine morning, when the air outside of our cozy home is at balmy zero degrees Kelvin, “Maddie”, our rescued mutt needs to visit nature, which in my defense, she could very well have done earlier, like when I was awake. To be honest, next time, I may be tempted to simply let her hold it – or whatever. Surely, there would be the inevitable mess, and clean-up, but look on the bright side, she would more likely clean it herself.
Eww!
She would be the perfect dog and I mean it. Kristi and I both agree that she would be, if not for the fact that every inch of our house is covered with one inch blond hairs. Sticky rolls are a joke. And vacuum sweepers simply die off.
Maddie herself however is clean. She should be after all the nether-regional licking she performs.
At 35 pounds, Maddie is not a large dog, yet as my wife and I settle for the evening, tucked neatly into our bed, Maddie usurps the royal queen in its entirety, leaving us with a leaf’s worth of cover and 2 pillows. To this day, I still cannot explain how she, from a species inferior to our own, does this.
Mind you, owning a dog is not like an old black and white Lassie rerun, where that simpleton, panty-waist Timmy is rescued by Lassie, every single episode – no.
I softly imagine Lassie as a pit bull or velociraptor.
But it is a privilege and I love my dog.
Well, it’s naptime. I am wearing black, and she is extraordinarily cuddly this evening.