We love dogs

This week I was on the phone to the vet about Tickie, who had absconded with, and ingested, several Heartgard chewables not his own. “It’s okay,” the tech said, “in the trials they use 600 times the strength, with no effects.” Tickie wagged up at me, from the floor, asking for more of those tasty treats. “You are a turd,” I told him.
Last week it was Ernie, who decided to lie on the sofa, playing Dying. Clear eyes, pink gums, no wincing or complaining when I palpated his body. Ernie played Dying until that evening, when he begged vigorously for liversausage, and announced he was Happy to Be Living and Just Fine.
Squeege had an affection for books, and as a one year old, munched on volume 38 of 60 of the set (formerly mint condition, hardcover with gold stamping) and was startled at our dismay. Kibbles chewed the delicate tissue paper of sewing patterns, and stopped – nonplussed, with a critical piece dangling from her mouth, when I screeched at her.
Dogs, as everyone knows who has an acquaintance with one, have personalities, lives, and are often nicer to their families than some people or friends we could name. Dogs bring emotion, life, happiness, and yes – occasionally frustration as well as hefty vet bills – into our lives. Dogs are made of love and memories.
If we and they could communicate in terms we fragile and dull humans could understand, how much anxiety and dismay might be saved us. If we thought like dogs, how much frustration we could save ourselves.