December 31, 2003

Happy New Year - doggone it

By
Herald Editor's dog

      Maybe I'm just a crass canine, but the whole happy new year thing is getting old. I'm just not up for the ubiquitous slurry rendition of "Auld Lang Syne" in Times Square. In fact, if I have to see Dick Clark's cosmetically altered grin, I'll dig my own spider hole.
      The world might be on the verge of a new year, but it feels like the same old dog's life to me. I guess when you're five going on 40 in human years, youthful optimism is a trick on par with begging. Although I won't be nursing a hangover, I'll start the new year with my old routine of sleeping in.
      Call it animal instinct, but canines rarely relish the past. We tend to live in the moment, especially if that interval of time involves peanut butter. However, in the spirit of the human holiday known as New Year's Eve, there are a few things I'll remember about 2003.
      - Toddler terror. The little human has transformed from a carpet crawler to a bothersome biped. She now knows my name, tugs at my tail and emits a high-pitch squeal that makes my tympanic membrane howl. The kid has the run of the house - literally. I do, however, reap the benefits from the child's crumb castoffs. Overall, I'm just glad to be on this side of the baby gate.
      - Road trips. I spent a lot less time in pooch prison when my humans hit the road this year. Unfortunately, I've been relegated to the back hatch area of the family minivan; squeezed in among suitcases and stuffed animals. Although I miss sticking my head out the window, I'm just glad to be along for the ride.
      - On August 21, 2003, I unexpectedly caught my tail.
      - Another seven years older. According to the Gregorian calendar, I'm a five-year-old fast approaching her midlife crises. No wonder white hairs have taken root around my muzzle. How can a blond have more fun when Clairol doesn't carry golden retriever #5? I can't even pig out on bacon-flavored bones anymore - a second on the lips, a lifetime on the withers.
      - Canine criminal. In a case of bad sitcom mistaken identity, I was accused of canine carousing. It seems my humans received a letter from their subdivision association saying a complaint had been made about me running around. Hey, I may not be a lady, but I'm no tramp. That's not to say this dog hasn't thought about going on the lamb. What collared canine hasn't felt the urge to answer the call of the wild and howl at the moon. Only one thing controls my caninus instincts: missing the new season of American Idol.
      Per tradition, this is the point where I resort to writing New Year's resolutions. After all, playing the role of family dog requires menial tasks like fetching sticks and writing newspaper columns.
      Without further ado, my resolutions for 2004:
      - make friends with the child. She might not grasp much, but her opposable thumbs could soon open the Dog Chow
      - curb my barking enthusiasm for the evil UPS truck
      - finish my thesis paper on quantum physics instead of sleeping away the day while my humans are at work
      - find a tall, dark and handsome hound before I hit 40 (in human years)
      - realize once and for all the reason why they call it a choker collar
      I'm still not sure if I buy into the whole happy new year concept. After all, the first thing people do is make an unobtainable list of self-improvements forged by self-help book guilt. Each new year brings the same old results: eat more, drink more and be more miserable.
      I'm just thankful that it is indeed a dog's life for this middle age five-year-old.