Story #52 - Doggin' It

Doggin' It

It occurred to me that animals have a great deal to teach us.

The revelation came as I sat one day watching my large grey cat nap by our long back window. Sun shimmering through the glass cast itself along his furry form and he sighed contentedly, paws kneading the carpet in front of him and tiny kitty brain lost utterly in the bliss of sleep.

How often, I wondered, do we sleep so deeply? How often do we stretch out and simply let the world roll by, unconcerned?

Along about never, I thought, but discarded the idea that being more like my cat was really a viable idea. Work in IT that I didn't enjoy and more debt payments than I could easily number didn't go away just because I wanted to sleep a lot or lick my genitals in the middle of the living room. I plugged along, shouldering my way through each day, ignoring what I knew better and all I knew best.

Then,we got a dog.

A large part of it was my disinterest; my wife had finally given up on children, I think, and I'd been emotionally abstract for the better part of two years. Sure, part of that was my career choice; techs aren't exactly known for our stunning social skills, but a larger part stemmed from sheer frustration at what I'd let our life slide into, what it had become.

She went out one day – to a shelter, I guess – and when she came back we had a dog. Brown and friendly, Shelby the chocolate lab was instantly lovable and training her was a chore I took to immediately. It gave me purpose, drive, the ability to focus on something other than my own sad life. Shelby was good dog, obedient and kind, and she quickly learned all I and her obedience class had to teach.

At that point, our roles were quite suddenly reversed.

It was the same window that sparked my interest, yet another sunbeam on belly that drew me in. Again, such a sense of relaxation, such a sense of deep contentment. What if I could be like that? What if I could rest – really rest – whenever I needed to?

I dismissed it as nonsense; Shelby needed walks – and lots of them – to burn off her energy. She wolfed down her food in seconds, and she had the stomach-churning habit of going after feces as though they were the best treat she'd ever had.

Still, there was an appeal.

It started with run each day with Shelby in tow. She was only to happy to be outside and I found that by exhausting myself physically, I slept better on the whole. Next, it was the walk. Shelby needed purpose, a direction when we walked, even if it was just around the block. She needed to know it had a beginning and an end point, that it was a task she could put her mind to and accomplish.

Work became my walk, became a place I didn't like to be but could see the end of, even I though traveled only around the same block over and over again. I went to work, buckled down, went home, and ran. Sleep came more easily, old pains seemed to ease. A dog's life seemed to be looking up.

I started having sex with my wife.

It wasn't how dogs did it that mattered; it was the passion, the intensity of the act that I co-opted. At first it was merely physical; we'd had nothing resembling emotional attachment in months, but soon she joined me on my runs, soon we spoke about things other than what chores needed to be done or bills needed to be paid.

I savored my food; wolfing it down like Shelby was bad for my digestion but I tried to eat each meal as though it were my last, as though no others would follow it. Flank steak became filet mignon, a beer the finest highball.

It was a dog's life – clean and simple. Focused, and without remorse.

My boss called me in; I came, smile plastered on my face. My projects were behind but I would catch up, would complete what was needed. Jack didn't see it that way.

He was an alpha, or that was how he saw it, sitting in his desk, too-sleek suit stretched over a frame that hadn't seen the inside of a gym in the better part of ten years. He screamed and yelled, hands pounding on the desk, jowls shaking as he emphasized - a mastiff, guarding its territory, hackles raised and tail erect, demanding that those who approach bow and scuttle forward at his approval.

Tearing his throat with my teeth wasn't an option, but fortunately Jack was hardly the smartest of breeds. A simple keylogger on his machine from maintenance two weeks ago had provided exactly what I needed – I had only to go for his hamstring.

His face fell as I told him, warned him that his private email affair with the secretary two floors up would suddenly and massively become public unless he chose to play nice and stay the hell off of my back. Ears down, the mastiff sank low into his chair, imagined tail curling under the cushioned surface to hide below his desk.

I stepped forward an he flinched; a small thing, barely noticeable, but enough for me. He'd been cowed; convinced that my version of the template of our interaction would be the one we now always followed.

Shelby's still with us, going strong and teaching me more each day about how to live the life I want and stop complaining as I see it pass me by. She lives now, here, in the present moment only, and is better for it, I think.

I know I am, and have of a certainty established one fact - one simple, dog-like commandment.

I am the alpha male.

-D