Dog Envy

I envy my dog at times and for many reasons. He eats and sleeps under my roof yet never contributes a penny towards his upkeep or my devoted care, and never lends a paw with housework. His empty cans of choice dog food contribute to the weekly garbage, yet he never volunteers to separate the cans from the papers and magazines, as the law requires. I envy his total disregard and indifference to the weather when he begs to be let out to relieve himself, especially in pouring rain – no hat, no galoshes, no raincoat, no umbrella. I envy his immunity to colds, sniffles, coughs, and fevers, and, unlike me, his need to carry tissues or walk down long pharmacy aisles looking for cold remedies, which has me doubting what superiority I have, as a human if any, over a dog? Then, too, I envy his appetite or lack of complaint at eating the same dog food twice a day, or his drinking beverage limited to chlorinated tap water, or not having to shower, shave, brush his teeth as I do every day, or never yet having to visit a dentist for a filling, root canal, or extraction. Or my need to select a daily change of clothing for work with coordinating tie, shirt, socks, shoes, whereas he’s content in his all-purpose short-haired russet pelt. And it matters not a jot when or where I take him for a casual walk – the beach, the park, or a tail-wagging stroll downtown. No one chides him for the same boring outfit. What I envy least about him, I suppose, is his bold, if not brash, lack of public etiquette – on sidewalks, storefronts, street lights, or a tire on a parked car. But perhaps my biggest envy is when he rushes out the house in the morning into the light of a new day to drop his load – his little face free of effort and strain, unlike mine when dragging my morning rear to the bathroom bowl. Damn, what I wouldn’t do – what you wouldn’t do – to be regular like that!