Consequenses of Suffering

Ever Loyal
They don't understand that I'm hardwired to be loyal. Nice, on the other hand, is something I am on the outside. Now ordinarily -- that is with an ordinary dog -- this wouldn't be an issue. Warm place to sleep, regular food, owners who love you in their own special but crazy way. All the ordinary dog has to do is scratch the door when he has to go. Not crapping on the carpet keeps most owners pretty content. That and undying loyalty. And nice. We have to be nice. And usually this isn't a problem. I like being nice. Except...

Except there's this thing I have that drains nice. Drains it away. No nice left. Anywhere. I'm still loyal. This condition doesn't seem to affect loyalty. Don't know why. But it does affect nice. My arthritis affects nice. In a big way. So on days like this when I'm hurting a lot, my nice is gone. And when your nice is gone, believe me, if you do something they think is very wrong, like taking a nip out of the little bastard that keeps hitting you in the ribs, they will put you to sleep. That's right, they will put you to sleep. That's the way they kill you. They put you to sleep and you die. Because you weren't nice. Doesn't matter why you weren't nice.

I don't think they always remember I have arthritis. Of course, I tell them I have it. I get up slowly, I grouse about the steps and getting in and out of the car, but owners are pretty much self-centered people. Life is about the pleasure I bring them, not the other way around. Hey, why do you think they call 'em owners? We're not partners.

So it's important that no matter how much it hurts, or how much they unknowingly hurt me, when the nice is all eaten up by the creaking joints, I go away, far away, like under the porch, so I can be alone and try to figure out what to do. I never do figure out what to do because what to do is to just live through it and hope they remember to give me the medicine from the vet. And it usually goes away -- and my nice comes back.

Sometimes when I'm hiding and hurting, I hear them calling me, but I can't move, and I won't move. I can't move because I can't move. Once I'm crammed under the porch, it's not easy to shimmy out again. And I won't move because I don't want them to see me this way. I'm afraid they will...I'm not sure what I'm afraid of. But they do put you to sleep if you aren't nice and do the things they want to do.

There is that part of me from a long time ago that wants to jump up and race to them with my tongue hanging out (they like that because it makes me look like a very ugly smiling human), but that's a very old memory. I know better than to try to relive that. Today I have to stay put. And be nice. And maybe one day...