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Monday, April 07, 2008

Men are Dogs.

Looking at him, laying there asleep on the couch in front of the TV, snoring, I am reminded that my dog is indeed—a man. Another species, yes, but I believe gender roles transcend species. Sometimes he looks at me, and I swear he is thinking that I talk too much. The moment I come home, I can see the question in his eyes, the question no man of the 21st century dare speak…”Where’s my dinner?” While Rusty was chasing cats, inhaling rawhide bones, and peeing on everything in sight, the sexual revolution came and went. Every day I take him out for walks. Has he once offered to take me anywhere? Nope. I buy him expensive toys. Have I ever returned home to find him clutching a dozen roses in his teeth. Of course not. I look in his eyes and see how he views me. I’m a cook, a maid, a personal assistant. Certainly not an equal partner in this life we share. No wonder man is a dog’s best friend. I am coming to realize they have everything in common.

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