It's Impossible to Write With a Dog

It's impossible to write with a dog hovering over your shoulder. Perhaps if you have a small lap dog, like a Yorkie or a Dachshund, you may tend to disagree, but a great big fur-baby like a German Shepherd? Impossible, I say.

Granted, she's very sweet and incredibly smart. Smarter than I am at times, it seems. I love her dearly, but it is a colossal feat to get an ounce of work done with this colossal, loveable fiend constantly licking my ears. How do you tell a dog that it's not time to play, without feeling like the biggest villain of all time? After all, what could be more important than wet, sloppy kisses and playing ball to a canine? Nothing, I say.

And now, she's pouting in the corner. Her soulful dark eyes filled with the most intense betrayal I have ever seen. She catches me glimpsing at her, and her ears prick up with hope. She inches closer, slowly mind you, perhaps thinking I won't notice her returning to my side. She scratches her ear with her foot, pretending not to care a bit about what I'm doing, perhaps in the hope that I will reach over to give her a pity scratch. I told you, she was smart.

Of course, I want to pet her. I want to scratch her belly until she sings to me the song of her people. What I do not desire so greatly is wiping drool strings off my keyboard, and making sure my pens and paper notebooks are out of reach of her ever curious maw.

Then again, I suppose a little doggy drool never really hurt anything, did it? She has returned to her corner, huffing and sighing from boredom. It's at times like these we ask ourselves, "is it worth it?". Working is important; it puts food on the table and a roof over our heads. But working - even if it is a task we love - comes at a cost: the cost of not giving our precious canine companions all the love and attention their little hearts desire.

Cats, for the most part, are different. They don't seem to care what we do, as long as there is food in their dish and clean litter in their boxes regularly. Every now and again they emerge, just long enough to grace us with a moment of their illustrious presence, as a reward for our hard work keeping them fed and sanitary. Somewhere in this house there is a cat, although I admit I haven't seen hide nor hair of him all day. I suppose he likes it that way; curled up somewhere dark and cozy, enjoying his solitude. Can't say I blame him at all.

Dogs, however, require that social interaction, don't they? Every time they see us, it's like they're seeing us for the first time. Some bark or dance for joy when the front door opens; others are barely able to contain their excitement, and of course there are those who accidentally release their "excitement" on the rug. We can't blame them too much for that though, right?

I think she's gone to sleep. All I can see is a black and brown pointed ear, flicking every now and again with every click of my keys. I guess she finally lost interest in me, which is how I finally seem able to get down a word in edgewise. In all honesty, I kind of miss having her flop down beside me on the couch, and drop her head in my lap. That level of affection - so pure, so unconditional - is nice to have for a change. Yes, its annoying, but enjoyable in its annoyance in a way. Does that make sense?

If you have a dog, I suppose it just might.