She says it is nearly Halloween so I have to tell you a horror story. So I will.
Wait for it…
I’m on short rations.
That bad enough for you? Make your toes curl? Shudder?
No, not food… we all know I eat better than she does… and most of what she does too…
It’s worse than that. Much worse.
She’s been counting. I mean, really… do you need to count to more than three? That’s about all I need … three treats is the most I’m allowed… so one – two – three – lots (which usually means she left the bag in my reach…).Works perfectly. Much simpler than what she was doing.
How mean can you get? “One – two….. hundred and ninety nine…that’s your lot. No more now, I’m busy.”
Busy? More tapping away on the ‘puter thing again, no doubt.
There’s me, only trying to help… working my paws to the bone…making her laugh and get some much needed exercise … busy? Hrmph.
Note from the small dog… you can’t count how many times you throw the ball. It isn’t fair. It is supposed to be a spontaneous joy… not a one, two, three affair. Frankly, I’m disappointed in her.
She was just curious at how many times I’d make her throw it, she said. Make her?… Let her, I told her… its s’posed to be a treat for her! And she thinks it’s supposed to be finite? In an infinite universe, there are an infinite number of tennis balls, I informed her, all of which owe their existence to the need to be thrown and retrieved. To cease throwing them is to deny their very reason for being. Is she going to start counting flowers next? Limiting the number of stars in the sky in case they sparkle too much?
She just doesn’t get it.
Nothing, I told her, exists without a reason and a purpose. And all such
porpoises purposes are inextricably interlinked. She said there was something fishy about my logic. Part of her reason for being, I told her, was unquestionably to throw tennis balls. Otherwise she wouldn’t have a dog and I wouldn’t have her as my two-legs. Symbiosis, I told her.
She asked me if I’d eaten the dictionary. Which is really insulting… I haven’t eaten a book since I was a pup!
Then she accused me of sophistry… yeah right, who’s been nibbling the pages now then?
So I got bored. She wants to talk sophistry we’ll see how she likes it when she finds what’s buried under her sofa cushions. Pig’s ears are great when they’ve matured in a flower bed for a month or two…
Must go, she’s on the phone so I need to distract her…
Much love, Ani xxx