Greater Than a Throw Pillow and Less Than a Child

Tonight while hanging out with Jessie and some friends who have dogs at the dog park, I was told that we were invited to a dog birthday party. The owner of the dog (who seems like a perfectly sweet and nice person) was renting out a piece of land in Jackson County and going to have a ton of dogs at the place.

That’s right, a birthday party for dogs.

Don’t get me wrong. I like dogs. I even like the poorly behaved dogs and the emotionally needy asshole dogs that I know. But at the end of the day I know that my dogs are dogs.  They don’t have thumbs. They are afraid of thunder.  They are great companions, but people they are not.

I get why people treat dogs like children; in fact I’m seeing it right now with our new puppy Samson. When you first get a dog, it is exactly like having a child. It needs help with everything and you end up a prisoner in your own home dealing with shit and piss. The love that you receive from the animal in return is pretty nice, but in essence they are children in that moment. But every time I want to go overboard with my affection for my dogs I do have to remind myself that they simply aren’t people.

I hope that this doesn’t make me seem cold or callous. I’m really not trying to be. I just don’t think that dogs should have birthday parties.  They aren’t children, and I don’t know how else to put it.

If the doggie birthday bash is one extreme, I see the other extreme daily.  In the meth house just up the street from me the people who live there have a really cute boxer/pit bull mixture (imagine that- white trash in Western NC having a boxer/pit). From what I can tell the poor dog just sits chained up outside of their house under a tree all day long. Nobody plays with it. Nobody takes it for walks. Nobody does anything but to tell the dog to stop whining for attention when the owner is outside. The poor dog must have Chili and Samson, because I know that it can see Jessie and I playing with our dogs, walking them and making them companions. I feel so bad for that dog, but I don’t know what I can do to help it.

I sometimes want to go yell at the meth addict assholes and remind them that their dog isn’t just a decoration. It isn’t some prop to reinforce your lifestyle or self-image.

So there’s my rant on how to treat dogs. I hope people read this and see my point. I hope anyone thinking of owning a dog who stumbles upon this blog will take my advice- treat your dog like something in between a throw pillow and a baby. That’s the best thing that you can do.

Until tomorrow, be good.