My dog is my favorite non-human animal on earth.
Whenever we arrive at the dog park, we are barbarians at the gates, restless to permeate the membranes of these verdant cocoons; eager to find tranquility and smoke it from its hole.
The dog is my fierce friend, my loyal companion. When I’m depressed, he energizes me with his playfulness. When I need to relax, he is a palm frond for my aching ass muscles.
Sometimes people try to “tame” the contrarian fires burning in my dog’s wolf-warrior soul. To slow this elegant engine of destruction from its march through neighbors’ backyards and their cat-litter boxes.
But, to paraphrase something the great Jim Goad once said, “Would you ask Usain Bolt not to sprint?”
If someone ever tried to hurt my dog, the forecast would call for a torrent of fist-showers. My knuckles would rain hell on his assailant with the ferocity of a valkyrie carrying its freshest kill to Valhalla.
Cat owners, yours is no disgrace. I love cats too. I actually own one of them, with another on the way (I’m “cat-pregnant,” with an expected due date of Autumn 2013.)
But I admire the chaos and incivility that dogs bring to the table. Chaos sells, and my dog’s buying.
Fun tidbit: My ex-wife and I enjoy joint custody of the dog. When he’s not with me being awesome, he’s protecting her and my son from the city’s most ignoble scum.
He is the greatest canine I know.
x-posted at When Falls the Coliseum