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Dog Days (1 Viewer)



Oh! To have the life of a dog! To be so mundane day after day. What it must be like to walk endlessly around the coffee table, in search of the perfect place to lay your weary head to sleep, even though any spot you so choose to occupy would be as good as the rest. What thoughts you must think! Do you ponder your existence? Does your mate have to have a certain amount of attractiveness, or the ability to hold an intelligent conversation? Is there ever a time when you have the sudden, almost uncontrollable, urge for a hot cup of coffee? Do drugs appeal to you? Peer pressure must have an awful affect on you. Are you bitter? Are you vain? Are you cocky? Are you hungry?
You see, my darling little pup, all these things apply to me. I, unlike you, listen to music and I watch TV. I feel pain, and loneliness. I feel empty, and bored. Do you? You can bury your malfunctions in your sleep. Sometimes, you awake to alert your master that you need to go outside. They say that you’re man’s best friend, but really, you merely exist.
One day, yes, you will die. And so will we all. There is no escaping this. God-if He exists-does not feel that we are adequate enough to survive on our own. We must go by His rules. Now, is this really fair? But you, being a dog, don’t know these trials, and tribulations. What do you feel? Do you think that you are sufficient enough to have an opinion about the demise of the world? Can you feel anything other than dull? Do you have what it takes to look at me, and tell me that you don’t want something? Can you have a conversation with me about what happens after we die? Do you think about such things?
What monsters lurk under your bed, darling pooch? What thoughts lie behind your chocolate brown eyes? Don’t be shy. I’m sure there must be something there. “Please, I’m hungry.” Yes, well, that was expected. Is there anything more? Share with me your secrets.
What do you think panting in my face is going to accomplish? I’m not very good at reading minds, my love. You must realize this by now. I’ve never given you anything that you’ve asked me for. Perhaps I am the inadequate one in this delicate, obscure picture we are painting for ourselves. Have I ever been able to live up to your expectations? What exactly DO you expect of me? A warm place to sleep at night? A friend and companion? Someone to install the doggie door? Do you want me to tell you that everything’s going to be ok? Do you want me to hold you when you’re scared and wipe the tears from your eyes? Would you do the same for me?
“Run sand hourglass in my time will I be worth? Spin 'round carousel when your horse isn't screwed in”
I believe our conversation here is finished, my beloved. Shall we do this again sometime? Tomorrow perhaps? Then we have an accord? Good, I look forward to