Seriously, they aren't.
I realize that's counter to both culture and my actual life, which includes dogs. Dogs who, without fail, are cute. I have a Boston Terrier who is named after a character in a Shakespearean tragedy, and I have a larger dog who is a festive mix of collie, greyhound, and lurcher. They are cute both together and individually which you would think might make them ideal scenery, draped around the furniture and across the floor with perhaps some brightly-colored toy from Ikea meant for a toddler. Yes, my dogs are the dogs of fashion and wouldn't bat an eyelash at having to go without their underthings in a Jordache magazine ad- but my god, sometimes I can't stand them.
I spend far too much time with them, is my guess. I'm home most of the day and that requires a certain amount of attention to dogs- all dogs would be perfectly content to sleep on someone's favorite something (doesn't matter what it is, as long as it will retain Dog Smell after they've woken up and moved on) but if you're in the house all that is right out. Now it's suddenly, and extensively, Dog Time. To wit:
Big Dog: Love you. I love you so much. Please give me your face.
Me: Oh, look how sweet you are. Oh, you want to give me a kiss? (Begins to bend down)
Big Dog: Love! (Puts entire mouth around my face. I don't move, because of teeth.) Love! (sticks tongue up my nose with vigor.)
Little Dog: Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Heyheyheyheyheyhey! (Pause.) SERIOUSLY, HEY! HEY! HEY!
Me: Little Dog, shut the hell up.
Little Dog: What? Were you talking to me? I have to protect the- (suddenly looks out window, one ear cocked upward.) HEY MOTHERFUCKER! YEAH, I SEE YOU OVER THERE! OR AT LEAST HEAR YOU! I WILL SO KILL YOU AND THEN MY BIG FRIEND HERE WILL LICK THE INSIDE OF YOUR NOSE FOR YOU! MAYBE I'LL LET HIM DO THAT FIRST! HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY!!
Me: THERE'S NO ONE OUT THERE. There's no one, Little Dog. I repeat: shut the hell up. Damn.
Big Dog: He can't shut up because we're barking now! WOOOO! I love barking time! It goes great with chasing time! (chases Little Dog.)
Little Dog: Get off me you gigantic freak creature! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod get off me giant dog! I refuse to worship you! You are a barking, eating three-seater sofa! GET OFF ME OR I WILL RIP YOUR EYEBALLS OUT OF YOUR HUMONGOUS REPTILE HEAD! HEYHEYHEY THAT'S MY NECK- YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS-
At that point I decide to risk the damage to my kneecaps and wade in to separate them. It's not peaceful, and I wonder how anyone who has dogs gets anything done; I certainly can't. My most tranquil activity for the day is Salad Time. I make salad and my dogs sit patiently at my feet, almost a hundred percent barkless, waiting for me to throw them little pieces of raw vegetables. When I first began doing this, the dogs were confused, especially the Little One.
Me: Here, Little Dog! (throws piece of carrot to him, he snatches it by chomping it out of midair as if it were an attack canary.)
Little Dog: Yeah! (chews carrot, becomes concerned.) Hey! This is something that's not meat- there's no meat on this anywhere- What the hell, woman?! (spits carrot molecules all over kitchen floor section.)
Big Dog: Me me me me mememe I waaaaantt it can I haaaaave it? Can I have it can I have it can I have it- (I slip him a piece of carrot, he chews; after watching Little Dog's behavior he decides it's best if he spits molecules of carrot around his section.) Look, I made them too. I made them! I made them! I'd like to sing about the bits I made- RweeeeeOOOOOOOOOOOrrrrrrrrrrrrraoowwwrrr!
Little Dog: (looks at Big Dog with contempt.)
But little by little, the dogs have learned that it's OK to swallow the things I flick at them from the cutting board. I had no intention of training them to like salad but they have decided to like cucumber and carrot and snap pea pieces, mostly because that means I keep throwing things at them. It's a kind of attention, which everyone knows is better than no attention; and so I keep doing it, which makes me abusive. I'm an abusive dog owner, forcing my dogs to pluck (or in Big Dog's case, lick) vegetable chunks from the air for my enjoyment. Perhaps I'm not being fair to myself: they sit there, looking at me with their cute eyes and their accidentally matching pelts, and I start throwing salad at them instead of cookbooks or Dutch ovens. We've met each other halfway.
In the meantime, there's always old age to look forward to. There will be far too much napping and pudding-slurping to worry about noises from outside the building or just the living room, for that matter. To be frank, I don't really care which one of us gets there first, the dogs or me: I just plan to enjoy it.
