Puppy Love

My clever and generous sis gave me two tote bags with Jonah’s picture on it, thus prompting a typical cashier conversation like the one I just had an hour ago at Ralph’s:

“Ooh how cute! Is that your baby?”

“No, that’s my dog.”

To be fair, he is an exceptionally cute dog. I have often told him that he is the cutest little dog in the whole world yes hims is such a cute little man yes him is booboo oo boo, etc. I stand by this judgment.

(Sic or sick to your heart’s content. He’s a dog. He doesn’t understand language per se and besides, he’d agree with me if he did.)

However, he is neither my child nor my child substitute.

I trained him to obey a limited set of commands. I did not instill in him my values, hopes or dreams for the future. I don’t expect him to clean up after himself or contribute to the household any way other than aesthetically, which he’s good at. See above.

Like I said, he’s a dog. His psychology, such as it is, is determined by his biology. His devotion is complete and unconditional, for lo we are his pack. He protects us from ersatz threats like the mailman and UPS guys. When we walk him, he turns around periodically as if to make sure we’re still there and doing ok. I say “as if” because first, he’s a dog, and second, we’re at the other end of his leash fer chrissake where else would we be?

Oh sure, the temptation to anthropomorphize is tremendous, especially when hims is such a smart little man yes hims is. Of course I make the usual jokes around election time about his proportional intelligence, but mostly I’m just tickled when his doglike behaviour causes people to stop whatever they’re doing to pet him, or give him bits of their food.

And (also of course) he is thoroughly spoiled and indulged. So are the human beings in my care, at least as much as I can manage. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go make some nice food for Melva and Robert.

Don’t worry, Jonah will be right there in case I spill anything.