Sometimes, try as I might, I just can’t figure out what goes on in human’s brains. I love my humans. If I had the luxury of choosing my humans instead of them choosing me, I probably would have selected them too. But sometimes I feel like we aren’t equals, and that doesn’t seem fair.
For example, why do they make me sit while we wait to cross a road, while they stay standing? And what about the magical room they call “the kitchen”? They are allowed in there willy-nilly, whilst I am instructed to wait at the invisible line that runs between the bench and the fridge, like a second class citizen. Am I not worthy of stepping over the threshold and into the promised land? I suspect a few minor indiscretions early on may have led to this rule but surely I cannot be blamed. I’m a hunter; a gatherer, by nature, and if I smell food on an unguarded benchtop then I will hunt it down and gather it into my belly.
However it’s not just the kitchen. It’s the dining table – I’m not allowed to eat from that either - and the couch – the humans can sit whenever they feel like it but I need to wait for an invitation. And don’t even get me started on the bed … their luxurious, huge bed with fluffy pillows and soft quilt, while I languish in my dog bed. Sure, my dog bed is soft and yes, it’s all mine while the humans have to share theirs with each other. I just think they should share it with me too.
But nothing has had me more confused than my treatment at the hands of a recent houseguest – a very Small Human.
I’ve come across these Small Humans before – sometimes at the park, and sometimes they have visited my home, but only ever for short periods. While I don’t mark time the same way humans do, this recent visitor was in my house for what was surely months.
Everyone was on constant watch. What’s Ron doing? Where’s Ron? Is the Small Human OK? Like I might have feasted on his little extremities if they had left me to my own devices for just a second! And it is here where I see the injustice.
For the duration of the Small Human’s stay, I was subjected to tail pulling, paw holding, ear tugging, teeth touching, and the worst of it all – tongue grabbing! Meanwhile if I merely glanced at the little tot, I’d get stern reprimands of ‘Gentle’ or ‘Sit’.
I understand small humans might be more fragile than the normal sized humans, and that I may be what some would consider a ‘large breed’ dog (which has never felt more true than when this little lad first saw me and neighed). But please, spare a thought for me and my fur family and treat us only the way you would like to be treated yourselves. Kitchen, here I come!