Thought of the Day 1/14/2013: Ode to My Pup

7 Week Old Puppy Charlie

This morning I simply had to stop and appreciate my 5 year old Corgi, Charlie; short for Sir Charles Dartanian Spader [My Mother instilled in me the belief that AKC registered pure-breds must have ridiculous names, thus Sir Charles was christened].  Anyway, as I awoke at 4:40am for my morning workout but without illustrating signs of life past noiselessly opening my eyes, Charlie had shook himself awake in giddy anticipation of my arousal from bed.  I got up and he gingerly greeted me, hopped a couple of times then ran for one of his bones or toys to bring me as a morning treat to trip upon.  That's when it occurred to me: I am the most interesting thing that will happen to Charlie today; and even though the same is true of everyday he never seems to get sick of me.

Further proof of this phenomena is illustrated by the way he greets me upon my arrival and incessantly follows me into whatever room I chose to inhabit.  I'm continually amazed at how he always knows when I'm about to walk through the door.  In fact, it would seem that he knows the sound of my car door shutting.  I believe this because while in Colorado I would leave our third-story balcony door open and everyday as I shut the car door I heard the tags on his collar rattle, a sure sign that he's getting up from his pillow to greet me.

No matter where I'm returning from and no matter how long I've been gone, it's always the same; he literally gets so overcome with joy at seeing me that he sometimes pisses all over himself.  I've often thought 'Wow, I wished I got that excited over seeing ANYONE.'  Forget that I'm the same person who repeatedly yells at him, doesn't pet or play ball with him as often as he deserves, and kicks him when he gets under my feet.

Despite how I feel or act he's always there for me, with that goofy Charlie smile [beautifully illustrated above].  He makes me laugh harder than most simply by hopping in the snow like a bunny rabbit and submersing his head in it while shitting, and best of all, howling like a full-on wolf anytime he hears sirens.  He can read me better than any human I know, when to give me a wide berth and when it's ok to cuddle.  And so I send love to my Little-Man, for whom I truly am grateful.  But I am still more grateful for the fact that he's a forgiving pooch instead of a real child, for it he were, I would have surely fucked him up royally.