I have a side business... Happy Tails Pet Sitting. I am not able to be owned by a dog so this is how I satisfy my absolute need to be with creatures who love wholly. A friend sent me this and I know there are many on here who are like me, so I share with you, happily.
V
P.S. I am presently the proud servant of Elmo the cat... he is why I can't belong to an inhouse dog.
Everything I Need to Know I Learned From My Greyhound, Elvis
A new study says that people choose dogs that resemble themselves. Some might find this odd. I say, it's a good thing.
By Eileen Mitchell
The newspaper clipping on my desk was titled, “Study: People pick purebred dogs that resemble them." I was at work, sitting at my desk with my co-worker, Paul. We were discussing a presentation when I saw his eyes glance at the article. Then he looked behind my shoulder over at my computer, which had kicked into screensaver mode and features a photo of my greyhound, Elvis. Then he looked at me. Then back at Elvis. Then at me again.
"Yeah," he nodded nonchalantly, "You do look like your dog...."
Not a jury in the world would convict me. I was about to ask, through clenched teeth, if it was the long nose or floppy ears he thought bore the most resemblance when he added, "...you're both tall and skinny."
Had he said "skinny"? Well, alrighty then.
But actually, resembling my dog wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. With his long, delicate limbs, soft, golden hair and chocolate syrup eyes, Elvis exudes a gentle Audrey Hepburn sweetness not always applicable to my own sometimes questionable demeanour.
The article Paul had spied on my desk noted, "When people pick a dog, they look for one that, at some level, bears some resemblance to them." While the study referenced physical traits, wouldn't it be an improvement if we resembled the personality traits of our dogs?
I wish I could love like a dog, unconditionally and with total purity. Elvis won't notice if I'm wearing brand new Manolo Blahniks or 10-year-old Birkenstocks. He doesn't give a hoot about how much money I make, whether I'm Christian or Jewish, black or white, pro-life or pro-choice, Democrat or Republican. Do I drive a Beamer or a Bug, live in a condo or McMansion? Am I partial to Richebourg Red Burgundy from France or Two-Buck Chuck from Trader Joe's? Maybe I battle chunky monkey thighs or am blessed with a bod like Beyonce. Doesn't matter. Not important. Elvis is wholly and utterly devoted to me for one reason and one reason only: because I'm me. OK, that and I can work a can opener.
I'd love to wake up each morning absolutely thrilled for no reason other than it's yet another day. Sure, I'm in good health, have wonderful family and friends, a roof over my head and food in my cupboards. Yet still, I complain. Where's my whirlwind romance, best-selling novel or Caribbean cruise? Why can't I make more money, lose more weight, have more fun? And is it Friday yet?
Ah, but to a dog each and every boring, monotonous, repetitive day is an absolute adventure. Just the mere appearance of their guardian is enough to elicit an unbridled joy that's the human equivalent of winning the lottery. And what about a ride in the car? A walk in the park? A scratch behind the ears? Suggest any of these simple, mundane activities and I usually have to steer clear of Elvis' tail, wagging so ferociously it practically slaps each side of his ribcage. Happy tail, one friend calls it. Indeed, a previous issue of Berkeley's Bark magazine features two pages of smiling dogs. Silly, happy, goofy grins that capture that blissful, joyful essence of all that is dog. If only we could all be content with so little.
I'd love to work and play like a dog, with total dedication, purpose and concentration. Like the service dog that carefully guides his guardian across a busy street or through a bustling crowd. Observe how seriously a border collie will try to herd playing dogs in a dog park. Watch how focused a golden retriever remains on that airborne Frisbee. See how vigorously a Labrador swims through water. Nothing lackadaisical or half-hearted here. Dogs aren't mulling over their walk tomorrow, their meal tonight or their nap in 10 minutes. Dogs live in the moment. Enthusiastically, they embrace each second of the here and now, be it a day in the field guiding cattle, a Sunday in the yard chasing squirrels or simply a restful afternoon snoozing in a pool of sunshine. Suddenly, dog-tired sounds more like an aspiration than a complaint.
When mistreated, dogs forgive. When ignored, they still love. When abandoned, they remain loyal. When neglected, they don't judge. They want for one thing only. To hear their human's voice, feel their human's touch, revel in the nearness of the person they love so unconditionally. Without prejudice, bias or discrimination, our canine companions epitomize the best of human nature. Or what human nature should be.
All of which leads me to believe there's a reason why it's often pointed out that dog is "God" spelled backwards. Because both deity and dog have traits we human beings should all aspire to resemble.
And we don't need a study to tell us that.
V
P.S. I am presently the proud servant of Elmo the cat... he is why I can't belong to an inhouse dog.
Everything I Need to Know I Learned From My Greyhound, Elvis
A new study says that people choose dogs that resemble themselves. Some might find this odd. I say, it's a good thing.
By Eileen Mitchell
The newspaper clipping on my desk was titled, “Study: People pick purebred dogs that resemble them." I was at work, sitting at my desk with my co-worker, Paul. We were discussing a presentation when I saw his eyes glance at the article. Then he looked behind my shoulder over at my computer, which had kicked into screensaver mode and features a photo of my greyhound, Elvis. Then he looked at me. Then back at Elvis. Then at me again.
"Yeah," he nodded nonchalantly, "You do look like your dog...."
Not a jury in the world would convict me. I was about to ask, through clenched teeth, if it was the long nose or floppy ears he thought bore the most resemblance when he added, "...you're both tall and skinny."
Had he said "skinny"? Well, alrighty then.
But actually, resembling my dog wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. With his long, delicate limbs, soft, golden hair and chocolate syrup eyes, Elvis exudes a gentle Audrey Hepburn sweetness not always applicable to my own sometimes questionable demeanour.
The article Paul had spied on my desk noted, "When people pick a dog, they look for one that, at some level, bears some resemblance to them." While the study referenced physical traits, wouldn't it be an improvement if we resembled the personality traits of our dogs?
I wish I could love like a dog, unconditionally and with total purity. Elvis won't notice if I'm wearing brand new Manolo Blahniks or 10-year-old Birkenstocks. He doesn't give a hoot about how much money I make, whether I'm Christian or Jewish, black or white, pro-life or pro-choice, Democrat or Republican. Do I drive a Beamer or a Bug, live in a condo or McMansion? Am I partial to Richebourg Red Burgundy from France or Two-Buck Chuck from Trader Joe's? Maybe I battle chunky monkey thighs or am blessed with a bod like Beyonce. Doesn't matter. Not important. Elvis is wholly and utterly devoted to me for one reason and one reason only: because I'm me. OK, that and I can work a can opener.
I'd love to wake up each morning absolutely thrilled for no reason other than it's yet another day. Sure, I'm in good health, have wonderful family and friends, a roof over my head and food in my cupboards. Yet still, I complain. Where's my whirlwind romance, best-selling novel or Caribbean cruise? Why can't I make more money, lose more weight, have more fun? And is it Friday yet?
Ah, but to a dog each and every boring, monotonous, repetitive day is an absolute adventure. Just the mere appearance of their guardian is enough to elicit an unbridled joy that's the human equivalent of winning the lottery. And what about a ride in the car? A walk in the park? A scratch behind the ears? Suggest any of these simple, mundane activities and I usually have to steer clear of Elvis' tail, wagging so ferociously it practically slaps each side of his ribcage. Happy tail, one friend calls it. Indeed, a previous issue of Berkeley's Bark magazine features two pages of smiling dogs. Silly, happy, goofy grins that capture that blissful, joyful essence of all that is dog. If only we could all be content with so little.
I'd love to work and play like a dog, with total dedication, purpose and concentration. Like the service dog that carefully guides his guardian across a busy street or through a bustling crowd. Observe how seriously a border collie will try to herd playing dogs in a dog park. Watch how focused a golden retriever remains on that airborne Frisbee. See how vigorously a Labrador swims through water. Nothing lackadaisical or half-hearted here. Dogs aren't mulling over their walk tomorrow, their meal tonight or their nap in 10 minutes. Dogs live in the moment. Enthusiastically, they embrace each second of the here and now, be it a day in the field guiding cattle, a Sunday in the yard chasing squirrels or simply a restful afternoon snoozing in a pool of sunshine. Suddenly, dog-tired sounds more like an aspiration than a complaint.
When mistreated, dogs forgive. When ignored, they still love. When abandoned, they remain loyal. When neglected, they don't judge. They want for one thing only. To hear their human's voice, feel their human's touch, revel in the nearness of the person they love so unconditionally. Without prejudice, bias or discrimination, our canine companions epitomize the best of human nature. Or what human nature should be.
All of which leads me to believe there's a reason why it's often pointed out that dog is "God" spelled backwards. Because both deity and dog have traits we human beings should all aspire to resemble.
And we don't need a study to tell us that.
