Saturday, August 14, 2010
Top of the food chain?
If there were an ounce of truth to the notion that we pet owners stood as ruler of our domain, why is it that my pets get to go back to bed at 8 a.m., bellies full, bladders emptied and affection delivered while I am already at work, earning the paycheck that keeps the food on the floor?
Why do I spend more time reading the labels on the treats I purchase than the nutritional information sheet at the venue where I eat lunch?
Why is it that despite my offerings of food, treats, love and devotion I still have to get up at crack-o-dawn-thirty most every freakin' day of the year to satisfy their desire to drink out of the pool, rather than the three water dishes provided for their health and well-being?
How did it come to pass that I own a puppy bag (similar to a baby bag, only, you know...) to tote along Darby's must-haves, should we take to the road for a visit with friends or family?
Or that I should need to plan time to take care of Darby's hair and nails, knowing full well that both my hair and my nails haven't seen the inside of a salon since sometime before Valentine's Day?
And let us not even begin to delve into the whole cleaning up o' the poo topic...
Really, is this what the view of world looks like when you're on the top? Pooper scooper in one hand, squeaky toy in the other, trying desperately to maintain my balance walking across the room in between the dog toy landmines and the cats using my legs as weave poles, all so I can get into the kitchen to deliver another round of Stella & Chewy's treats to my four-legged housemates?
I could go on for days, but Weebs is scratching at the glass, wanting back indoors for the fifth time this morning, Darby's looking for someone to throw his toy, Bo's wanting more pool water and Musette is reminding me that she can use a little more salmon.
Ahhhh, life at the top.