The Down Side of Dogs

My dear friend's dog (part Welsh Corgi, part human), died last night. Well, not so much died as was killed by lethal injection, but that sounds worse than it really was, which is that the kindhearted vet ended Cammie's suffering with an injection that put her to sleep, peacefully and surrounded by her family in her home, and now she's in Doggie Heaven. (Hey, we should all be so lucky.) Anyway, today my friend is neither peaceful nor sleeping, she is wide awake and sobbing and feeling like shit, which is only appropriate.

I speak from experience. Pets are so much fun, and truly are part of the family. They add life and laughs and exercise, making their owners happier and healthier. Until they get sick, at which time they become a hellish nightmare lasting weeks or months that finally ends up as a bag of ashes you put in a nice vase or maybe a special wooden box and keep on your bookshelf. I tell myself this every day, often as I dust my own collection of dearly departed animals, so I won't cave in and get another dog. So far it's working. Now if only I could get myself to see the same is true for the rest of those habitual behaviors that end up hurting me, things would be great.*

* According to some learned sages, it's actually possible to have an excellent life when you put your mind to it. Instead, so many of us subject our minds to the bald-faced sham of politics, the passing parade of drug commercials wrapped inside TV shows and the manufactured lives of photo-shopped movie stars. And we keep getting more dogs.