In The Doghouse

I like what George Carlin asked long ago. "What do dogs do on their day off? They can't lay around--that's their job!!" I wonder what it would be like if that was my existence--doing nothing.
There are days when not much gets done, and deep down I may feel refreshed, but I'm miserable. Then you have days like today when I would give my left big toe to do nothing, but have no chance but go make the mortgage.
I look at my dog who really doesn't give a rip either way. Just feed me, water me, take me out to do my stuff, then give me all your attention in the interim. Not a bad gig if you ask me. Of course that can of life has it's drawbacks. The occasional shot of toilet water versus the occasional shot of Jack Daniels. Not really having any sense of taste and being able to fully enjoy lobster.
Then there are the people who look at you and like morons. Especially when they raise their voice about two octaves and tell you how cute you are. They beg you to come over to them; all the time hoping you don't bite their finger off. And of course, you have people always wanting to rub your belly. I tried rubbing a woman's chest once and got slapped.
Then there is the intelligence part of this equation. I tell my dog to go outside, and she is usually there ready to go. I tell my dog to sit, and she knows it's time to be still. I tell my son to do something, and he burps-farts, and goes to the next level of the nintendo game.
The one thing my dog has over me that I envy tremendously right now is the ability to rest through a major head cold. If I had my drothers I would be in bed for the next two days doing nothing but watching ESPN Classic, and the Weather Channel. Instead, I get to spread my misery to the world so I can make enough money to pay the bills, and get my dog some new doggie treats.
As in the words of that great philosopher George Thoroughgood--"Move nice dog. The mean ole dog is moving in".