Being a Not Dog Person as I am I miss out on the companionship, the unconditional love and the pleasure of nurturing.

But dog people appear to be oblivious to the unstinting motion, the poo, the way the dogs eat everything, and the noise oh the noise. My god. Stop barking. These dogs bark all the time. They bark and they bark. Barking whenever they see other dogs, whenever they see other people, whenever they don't see their owner, whenever it's time to get in the car, whenever the moon's out, whenever they're outside, whenever they're inside, whenever they're breathing. The little bastards bark. Dog people appear to be oblivious to it.

“But ah,” say the dog people who may be taking this as a criticism of their own beloved and well-behaved pet and perhaps of their entire way of life, “but ah, dogs can be trained to be perfectly behaved.” And they are certainly right. But the thing is the dogs never are trained to be perfectly behaved. Dogs tend to be well-trained up to a point and that point is where dog people feel happy with the behaviour of the dog. The dogs usually come back when they're called for except when they're frolicking with some new dogly friend on the far side of the park, the dogs are quiet docile little chaps but when their territory is invaded by some strange dogly intruder they'll bark and the dog people have to shrug and say, “whatever, it's just dogly behaviour”. Sadly — and it is a fault in ourselves, certainly — we not dog people are cursed with less tolerance.

I have many pleasures available to me. I am capable of enjoying many things — a book with a beautiful ending, a long summer's afternoon on the porch, a cracking cover drive, holding hands with a Pretty Lady — it's this one I fear I just never got.

¶ 12:40 pm