God, I Wish I Were My Dog

Not all the time, mind you, but on Mondays with a full work week staring me in the face, there is a bit of temptation.

The photo of Paris is sort of in your face, isn't it?

You see, Paris is a real slap-happy animal. Every moment of every day to Paris is like the split second when she emerged from the womb.

She's just plain fired up about living.

Paris is the kind of dog who when confronted with the stairs jumps down all five, never even really touching one until she gets to the bottom. She gallops across the backyard like a deer, eats fast, runs fast, chases the tennis ball with reckless abandon, and even takes a quick dump as though she's missing something else while doing it.

In other words, she loves life.

And there are moments, such as when I snapped this photo, when I think it would be a hell of a lot easier, wouldn't it? She's just so carefree?

Of course, there is a downside to being a dog, right?

Like no concept of money. Dogs don't have money. The problem being they have no pockets.

Like no idea if they really are going to get that ride in the car when they absolutely need it. Dogs can't drive cars. No place to put their car keys.

Again, no pockets.

Like not being able to eat whenever they want to. Dogs kind of have to wait around until you fill their bowls for them or they can find something absolutely inedible around the backyard. They can't just pull a snack out and start munching on it because there's nowhere to pull the snack from.

Besides they eat so fast and so excitedly that even if they hid snacks in their pockets, they'd just eat it right away.

What the hell is the matter with me?

I don't know.

Dog days of summer, I suppose.

But admit it.

You'd like to be a dog every now and again, wouldn't you?