January 5, 2000
New century should go to the dogs
Editor's note: Due to a feverish case of millenniumitis, the regular banter, musings and mutterings of Garret Leiva are temporarily unavailable. Instead, in the spirit of little Billy and 'Family Circus,' this week's column is by 1 « -year-old Corky, who is full golden retriever and part philosopher.
Opposable thumbs. If not for these two digits there would be little in life humans would grasp.
Take Y2K for instance. Now while I breathe through my mouth and walk on all fours, you didn't see me stockpiling Milkbones. Chewing through the paper last week, I was struck by reports of guns, generators and canned green beans flying off the shelf.
Some might call it reverting back to one's animalistic instincts - frankly such comments are an insult to animals everywhere; even cats. I for one wasn't about to bury my squeaky toy in the backyard over a couple of misplaced binary digits. How some of you made the leap from Windows98 crashing to the four horsemen of the apocalypse playing bocce ball with the planet is beyond me.
My guess is that Dan Rather looked rather downtrodden reporting all quiet on the western and eastern hemispheres after the ball dropped in Times Square. Personally, I was too busy staring at the back of my eyelids.
In light of recent millennium events and in the continued spirit of the holiday season (and the fact that I've been given canine carte blanche), I thought sharing a song would be appropriate. If not, I'll just stick out my tongue and pant a lot until my cute factor is restored.
Twelve Days after Y2K (unlike any Emily Dickinson poem, this cannot be sung to the tune of "Yellow Rose of Texas")
On the first day after Y2K my true love tried to return, a generator still in its crate
On the second day after Y2K my true love tried to return, two propane heaters
On the third day after Y2K my true love tried to return, three 50 gallon gas containers.
On the fourth day after Y2K my true love tried to return, four boxes of ammunition
On the fifth day after Y2K my true love tried to return, five flashlights
On the sixth day after Y2K my true love tried to return, six bottles of Tylenol
On the seventh day after Y2K my true love tried to return, seven sacks of flour
On the eighth day after Y2K my true love tried to return, eight boxes of kitchen matches
On the ninth day after Y2K my true love tried to return, nine smokeless candles
On the tenth day after Y2K my true love tried to return, ten cases of canned corn
On the eleventh day after Y2K my true love tried to return, eleven gallons of bottled water
On the twelfth day after Y2K my true love tried to return, twelve dozen batteries
Now dogs don't keep track of days in the conventional sense. After all, with 12 months equaling seven years, it would take a railroad spike to hang a wall calendar. This year, however, with all the excitement over the millennium (albeit misguided as the Gregorian calendar itself) I've decided to make my own list of New Year resolutions. They are, in no particular order:
- take my Homo sapiens for a walk at least twice a day.
- train my human companions to fetch sticks along with my food, water, collar, brush, etc.
- I promise to chew my food more and the mudroom drywall less.
- always put others before myself by licking them first.
- I will not only chase leaves, the wind and my tail, but catch them.
- practice loving thy neighbor, but not in the front yard.
- put down the toilet seat when I'm done drinking.
As the dawn of the 21st century rises, many wonder what the future might hold. Humankind may set up strip malls on Mars, buy spare body organs online and tailgate each other as they travel through the time-space continuum.
Myself, I just hope they keep the whole opposable thumb thing. After all, they might not have a solid grip on reality, but they sure can open a bag of Dog Chow.
Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail at gleiva@gtherald.com. If he's not out buying rawhides, he'll take a message for Corky, too.