We didn't get to watch the Westminster Kennel Club dog show here, which is just as well. My dog is still mad at me because I didn't register her in the AKC, thus dashing her hopes of being a show dog. (She's seen how many treats those dogs get, and she wants some of that action.)
I'd wanted her to go into pet therapy, but she flunked the test, deliberately, I suspect. She just wasn't cut out for social work. When I eventually sneaked her into the nursing home to visit Grandma, she did think it was pretty cool--Grandma spills a lot of food--but then the menacing sight of a guy in a wheel chair gave her the willies. (That's just unnatural, she says, for people to have wheels.)
Since she loves the snow, she decided she wanted to be a rescue dog like her brother. I took her to agility school, but the preparation was for naught. Turns out there aren't too many opportunities to rescue people from dangerous teeter totters in the actual wild.
After we moved to Britain, the land of pampered pooches, she thought she might like to be a Yorkshire Terrier, but they took one look at her and ruled her ineligible. (Something about tail docking--WTF?!) Besides, those cute plaid coats don't come in extra extra large, and what's the point of being a toy breed if cool threads don't come with the job?
On her first outing in Regent's Park, she was attracted to the water, which offered several exciting career possibilities--a swim instructor? A lifeguard? Diving for tennis balls? But then a swan spit at her and a career on the high seas was out.
Our new house in the country presented an opportunity as a guard dog...until she got her first close-up look at the cows in the neighboring pasture. ("Those things are HUGE! Mommy! That one LOOKED at me! Help!")
Now, she's decided undercover work is for her. Every time she goes outside, she rolls in the mud, cleverly disguising herself as a sewer rat. The enemy? Apparently it's the pair of Commie ducks nesting next door. (You didn't know ducks were communist? Make Way for Ducklings was set in Boston. What more proof do you need?)
I try to tell her we're vegan, and all the animals are our friends, but she's not buying it. She's read Animal Farm, and knows it's just a matter of time until they organize a resistance, and as a Tool of Man she'll be first on their list for extinction.
I hear retirement is planned for the shorthaired pointer that won Westminster. If she's considering a second career, maybe she should talk to my dog. She's been around the block a few times--just today, as a matter of fact, and when it comes to careers, she's got some advice: It's a tough world out there, and you don't get treats just for showing up. Watch out for wheel chairs, and when dealing with cows, always--ALWAYS--have backup.
