A few weeks back I wrote about an Old Man Dog who lived on the streets here at Rainbow Bridge. He crossed over in the early 1970’s, and he never knew what it was like to live inside or eat proper food. He taught me how to appreciate the life we have and understand the differences between us.
Recently I went back to visit Old Man Dog. I wanted to show him how dogs live today.
We used bird bodies to fly back to the mortal side so he could witness dog’s lives in 2018. The first dog we saw was wearing a new wool coat.
“What the hell is that dog wearing?” Old Man Dog asked me. I told him it was a coat bought at PetSmart. “Why does he need a coat? We were born with a warm coat attached to our skin. Who needs a second one?”
“But they are warm and snuggly!” I countered.
“Snuggly!” Old Man Dog harumphed. “We are dogs; we don’t need snuggly. We need an open heat grate to sleep on at night.” He further studied the dog. “Good God! What is the on his feet?”
I told him they were booties. “Booties!” Old Man Dog yelled.
“Why the hell would a dog need booties. We have tough pads, and we don’t let heat, rain, snow or ice bother us.”
“They keep our paws from cracking,” I told him.
“Paws cracking? My paws used to crack four times before supper. Those were a badge of honor. Don’t you dogs have any toughness about you at all?”
“Sometimes, when it is not raining too hard, we will go out without a raincoat.”
“A raincoat!” he bellowed. “God gave us a raincoat. Why would we need another?”
“Because, if your fur gets wet you are going to get a bath.”
“A bath is something you get twice a year if you need it or not,” Old Man Dog said.
“Not for us,” I told him. “I went to the groomers every six weeks.”
“What, in the name of dog, is a groomer?”
“That is someone our mom hires to bathe us and cut our hair.”
Old Man Dog’s eyes popped out of his head. “Who is your mother, the Queen? Your parents can’t bath you so they hire someone to do it? Do they hire someone to bathe their children?”
“Don’t be silly,” I said.
“So dogs being clean is more important to the parents then their children being clean?”
“Yes,” I told him.
He paused. “Well, that’s an idea I can get behind. So, the modern dog is not only equal to children but actually superior?” I said that was true in many ways. “How did that happen?”
“Years of training and sucky kids,” I told him.
“Well, more power to the modern dog,” he said. “The next thing you know dogs will be wearing diapers and humans will be picking up their poop in colorful plastic bags.”
I told him to sit down. The next thing I was about to tell him would shock him. When I told him our parents do pick up our poop in colorful bags, and, if we are on a walk, they put the poop in their pockets, the Old Man Dog finally understood. We had risen to become the superior being.
“I guess I should not judge you foofy little dogs,” Old Man Dog said. “I prefer to live in my era of freedom, but I must respect those of you who live in the age of dominance.
We flew back to the Bridge together, each in our way, masters of our domain.