Good day, everyone!
As I count down the days to this blog’s first year’s anniversary, I realize that there’s something I must share with you.
And that something would be the very first post I wrote about Roxy.
As you all know, Roxy is not only an important part of my life, she’s an important character in this blog.
She’s my walking partner, my laughing partner, and I’m sure that if I had to rob a bank, she’d be my lookout.
With this in mind, I give you a “vintage” Roxy post titled,
Do pets get even?
The other day my son made the following observation about our dog Roxy, “This dog sure has a great life.”
Roxy’s head shot up and she had a funny look on her face; it was as if she was sneering, “Dude, you’ve got it all wrong.”
I’m sure if Roxy could talk she’d set us straight.
She’d tell us we should be the ones squatting to pee when there’s ten inches of snow on the ground.
She’d point out the fact that her paws freeze in the winter and cook in the summer because we take her on walks she doesn’t want to take.
She’d say we should have a go at sniffing the ground where other dogs have already done their business.
She’d indicate that she’s ready to trade her dog food for our sirloin steak.
Yes, I’m sure Roxy would readily hand over her collar and leash to me and say, “Here, put these on and I’ll lead you around.”
She’d mention how she’s tired of learning new tricks only to get a doggie treat that tastes like three-day old fish.
She’d state that she’s sick of wearing the little outfits I put on her and suggest I wear them instead.
She’d tell me I’m a liar when I say everything’s going to be okay and the vet is coming at her with a three inch needle.
Yes, if Roxy could talk they’d set the record straight by announcing she’s done.
No more canned dog food that leaves her breath smelling like ass.
No more being thrown a lame stick and ordered to fetch.
No more being woken up early in the morning to pee and poop when it’s snowing or raining.
No more flea collars that makes her skin itch.
And yet throughtout the unfairness of not having a voice, little Roxy has discovered a way to balance out the universe: She gets even.
She poops and pees in the house the instant she comes in from her thirty minute walk.
She hurls on the leather sofas.
She chews on shoes and doesn’t discriminate whether they’re Chucks, Clarks, or God knows who.
She scratches the hardwood floors, hides socks in her bed, lies on my cashmere sweater, and tangles me in her leash every chance that she gets.