January 1, 2003

New year but same old dog's life

By Corky
Herald editor's dog

      Today is January 1, 2003. A new year but the same old dog's life; pass the Milkbones.
      Although not nursing an "Auld Lang Syne" hangover, I've decided to start the new year with my old morning routine. Today the dawn of the 21st century breaks on the horizon, but I'm sleeping in.
      Call it animal instinct, but canines rarely wax nostalgic. We tend to live in the moment, especially if that interval of time involves food. However, in the spirit of the human holiday known as New Year's Day - or collapse on the couch and watch the Poulan Weedeater Bowl - there are a few things I'll remember about 2002.
      - My birthday. I turned four years old this June and to mark this momentous occasion I received the big nada. No squeaky toy, no extra bit of kibble, not even a Calico cat rawhide. Some doggie decorum: a pat on the head is like buying a birthday card at the gas station - cheap affection.
      - And baby makes three. It might be a tinge of mammal sibling rivalry, but no one conferred with me about bringing a child into this world. Call me a crass canine, but I don't understand what all the fuss is about. Human babies are furless, noisy creatures only a mother (or father) could love. Naturally the one who can't walk has run of the house while I'm stuck behind a baby gate.
      - Dirty dog. Last year I had my nails trimmed, fur washed and little bows put in my hair. This year an occasional squirt of doggie deodorant and I'm good for days. Thanks to the half-pint human, I put up with less personal hygiene grief. The down side is that I don't get invited into the house to watch Animal Planet.
      - Ham. On July 18, 2002, I ate an entire piece of processed lunch meat.
      In regards to all that New Year's Eve hoo-hah, I spent the last night of 2002 passed out on the linoleum. It wasn't inebriation, only boredom. As was the case during other major holidays - Thanksgiving, Christmas, St. Jean Baptiste Day - I was a New Year's Eve latch-key canine. Instead of leaving the baby behind with a bowl of water, I'm the one stuck at home with the next door dog sitters.
      At least they could have left the bathroom door open for a midnight toast at the toilet bowl.
      Now dogs don't usually resort to New Year's resolutions since we shy away from self-improvement through self-help book guilt. However, I've decided to bowwow to the powers that be (the one with opposable thumbs to open my Iams bag). After all, playing the role of family dog requires a few concessions on my part. So I fetch sticks, perform menial tricks, walk my humans around the neighborhood and write a few newspaper columns.
      Without further ado, and in no particular order of importance, my New Year's resolutions for 2003:
      - call a cease fire with the mental pigmy mutt next door until my rocket-powered roller skates arrive from the ACME warehouse
      - finish reading "Catcher in the Rye" instead of sleeping away the day while my humans are at work
      - always put others first by not licking them second
      - make friends with the child in order to end up like Timmy and Lassie not Travis and Old Yeller
      - relish road trips to the recycling center - at least I'm not getting thrown out with the corrugated cardboard
      - when all else fails, pant and smile
      Today is January 1, 2003. It is the dawn of a new day and a new year - if you buy into that Gregorian calendar thing. Chewing through the newspaper, today's headlines don't always bode well for tomorrow. I'm thankful it is indeed a dog's life; pass the Milkbones.