(During summer reruns on TV, Bill decided to share some previous blogs by the family’s Yorkshire Terrier, Sam. Views expressed by the canine in no way reflect his master’s opinions.)
Before we begin, let me apologize for the whole “master” complex of my “owner.” Puh-lease! We all know who is really in control. However, I’ve learned from watching his wife that it doesn’t hurt to let the man THINK that he’s in charge.
In his defense, he’s a lovable sort—slow but trainable. After weeks of effort, he finally learned to give me a dog biscuit whenever I sat, shook, or rolled over.
It took longer on the house training. I committed a number of indiscretions on the carpet before he finally figured out the routine. Now he takes me outside on a regular schedule. One glance at the front door, and he comes running.
We use a leash on our walks. I’ve found this is the best way to keep my human from wandering away. A short tug of the lead gets his attention; but the leash still wraps around his legs if he doesn’t turn quickly enough.
Why are people in such a hurry? A walk involves so much more than locomotion and elimination. God’s creation calls us to play. The scent of each bush, tree, and hydrant reveals cosmic mysteries. Sigh—so many smells to smell and so little time to smell them.
Speaking of smells, so what if I enjoy an occasional roll in something stinky—who doesn’t? The best opportunities always seem to occur right after a bath. For some unfathomable reason, this practice upsets my humans. I imagine they would be less stressed if they followed my example.
Don’t get me started on squirrels. They act so high and mighty with their bushy tails and twitching noses. Lucky for them I keep my people on a leash while I’m outside. Otherwise, I would be on them like white on a Maltese.
I love to go for rides. I sit in my man’s lap and drive. It’s tough to watch the road with my nose out the window, but I manage.
I am The Master of All I Survey. Sometimes strange people or animals dare to walk on the street in front of my house. Per dog decorum, I exercise my right and duty to announce my presence loudly. My family pretends to fuss about the barking, but I know that they treasure this endearing quality.
I may only weigh 12 pounds, but it’s not the size of the dog in the fight—it’s the size of the fight in the dog!
I’m waiting at the door when my people arrive at the end of the day. They always act so excited to see me. I indulge them with some dancing and prancing of my own. Humans love that sort of stuff.
At bedtime, I decide which human to grace with my presence in bed. They started me off in a crate followed by a dog bed. Puh-lease—get a grip and buy a clue. They can sleep in a crate while I snuggle under the covers.
It’s a dog’s life, and I’m not complaining. The Great Master in the Sky has blessed my family richly. Between you and me, I believe the Hound of Heaven has a soft spot for canines.
Think about it—“dog” is “God” spelled backwards. Coincidence? I don’t think so!