"Mom, how come dogs get all happy and excited when they see another dog, but humans don't get that way when they see other people?"
Good question, son. I think part of the reason is that a certain amount of the human population is comprised of teenagers and pre-teens. Whenever I act happy to see you, you respond in equal parts disgust, indifference, and mortification.
I didn't actually say that. I didn't say what I was thinking either, that a dog doesn't carry a bunch of emotional baggage with her. She doesn't get insecure. She doesn't worry if that labrador will think her butt looks big in these pants. She never gives a moment's concern to whether or not her leash is "in" this season. She definitely doesn't hold a grudge. She doesn't compare herself to other dogs, or covet their doggie toys, or wonder why her owner isn't totally cool like Snowball's is. She doesn't need video games or cell phones or fancy refrigerators. She doesn't care how big her house is or where she gets to go on vacation. She doesn't worry one iota about herself.
All I said was that a dog has absolutely nothing in the way of the joy she experiences in life.
I kind of want to be a dog now. And I really miss ours, who died almost 6 years ago now.
Chelsea, we miss you. Even Lady E and Little T talk about you all the time, and they never even met you. I just told the story last night about the time you got in between a hot, open oven door and a careening 11 month old Sam, and pushed him out of danger, while I watched helplessly from the other side of the oven with a heavy, steaming casserole balancing in my oven-mitted hands. You were always happy to see me. You never threw a tantrum. You did not pester me all day long with "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" You were a treasure.
You did shed a ton, though. The kids got you beat there.
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