QotD: Dogs

Took Jasper to the vet for a heartworm test. Gnat wanted to hold the leash as we entered, but I had to take the reins; you never know when Sheba the Death Mutt is waiting inside, ready to pounce and open throats. There was a Doberman inside, looking, as do all sitting Dobermans, like a living exclamation point. This dog did not like Jasper, and gave him a warning growl that had murder in mind. Jasper turned and walked to the door and looked out the window: I will go now please thank you okay great. But no, I had to drag him over and make him sit in the same room as Killer MacBully. Jasper was already nervous, since I'm sure the vet's room smells like fear and doubt. I tried to distract him with a good chest rub, which has a way of making male dogs zone out, but it didn't work. Some people talk to their dogs as if they understood the exact text: you'll like the doctor! She's nice! Yes you will! Mummy's widdle smuckums. I can't. It's one of the things about pet ownership that breaks your heart: they can comfort you, but you really can't comfort them. They don't have to know your language, but you can't know theirs.

Well, you can, but I'm not going to lick his face to express benevolent dominance.

There's a sentence that's going to get me some hits for all the wrong reasons.

James Lileks, The Bleat, 2007-05-23