Gone to the Dogs

It is, at this point, a cliché. Something so common and ubiquitous it barely merits notice: yappy little dogs. You know, those dark-eyed little mutts with the wiry, dirty-looking fur. 

For some of us, they are the essence of cute. Especially when this seemingly stout-hearted little mongrel opens its mouth and barks.

At everything.

Awww. Isn't he just precious? 

Little Sparky appears to be the dog world's David, taking on a world of Goliaths. And yes, for two or three milliseconds (I've never actually timed it) it is cute. 

But the reality is he's just a hyper, overstimulated nuisance. Short of the guy who insists on leaving his car's music playing at 120 decibels while he refuels, few things in life are as annoying.

Perhaps I suffer from shakey self-esteem. Or need to bolster my self-confidence. But when I approach my home on foot or even in my car and am barked at as if I were a home invader, I take offense. In fact, it extends far beyond 'offense'.

Namely, can I put Sparky on the end of a stick and use him as a mop? How about a duster?

Either would be more useful.

I'm sure Sparky's owners would react negatively to my hostility. Don't I understand that for empty-nesters little Sparky fills the void of a houseful of frolicking children, long gone?

Guess not. I only see in Sparky the canine embodiment of the short man syndrome. Plagued by insecurity, those so afflicted attempt to compensate for their small stature by being twice as loud and twice as obnoxious as everyone else.

As a big dog, I'd like to re-establish the natural order and toss Sparky over the shrubbery

And yet, is a creature who can't distinguish between the threat presented by an automobile and a snarling pit bull really going to take anything away from that?

Probably not.

Unlike Sparky's owners, I am made content that I don't require noisy and constant diversions to distract myself from, well, practically everything. Thankful that I can exist in quiet solitude without going mad.

Relieved to be without the four-legged car alarm that informs me whenever the phone rings. Or when someone's at the door. Or when the neighbor is pulling up the driveway in their car.

(You know I have ears too, right Sparky?) 

Grateful that I don't need incessant, high-pitched yelping to feel alive.

Whew.

If the owners of dogs like Sparky are in such dire need of stimulation, may I suggest coffee? How about over-the-counter stimulants? They're easily available and hardly bark at all.

They might even make engaging with your neighbors feel like you're not attempting to have a conversation on an airport runway.

Ahh. But I live in a world where, owing to our ever-increasing fragmentation, people are finding it harder and harder to connect with other human beings. Or even co-exist. Driven by divisions and divisiveness we are angry and fearful and afraid. We are insecure.

And so we have turned to dogs. The servile animal who lavishes us with knee-jerk adoration. Why can't my neighbors love me like this? Or my co-workers? Or my children?

That is another post for another day.

In the meantime, I'm eyeing a very attractive lease on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Hmmm. Might be fun to sign-off on one and call it Sparky.

Yeah.