I Wish I Was A Dog
10 a.m. at the office
“Dogs are better than people,” the Lobotomy Dude says.
“I agree.”
“I don’t own a dog,” he says. “I observe dogs. People walking their dogs.”
“Okay.”
“They walk their dogs when it would be better if they simply allowed their pets to roam free.”
“Packs of dogs roaming the streets ? Nice!”
“I dreamt of Dogs last night.”
“You have dreams?”
“In my dream I’m setting the dogs free. The Kennel Guard was dead, ripped to shreds by a Bald Eagle. I observed his bloody corpse for a time. Then I took the key ring from his belt and released the dogs from their cages. The dogs raced into the street where they caused a traffic jam. People were thrown from their bicycles. School kids were delighted. They ran with the dogs.”
“That’s quite a dream.”
“I often wished I was a dog.”
“Yeah?”
“Not now. Before my Lobotomy. Back then my mind swelled from societal torments. Now, as you know, I’m at peace. I no longer wish I was a dog. I feel doglike.”
Thanks for sharing that with me.”
If you’re new to my Blog an explanatory is in order. The mean woman in the above picture, The Lobotomy Dude’s Mother, informed us that her son never had a Lobotomy. He pretends he’s been Lobotomized. I don’t know why. I asked him and he acted like he didn’t hear me. He was reading a magazine with Arnold Schwarzenegger on the cover…
I used to dislike Arnold. I considered him a beefed up pompous jerk. Now I like him. This happens sometimes with people. They get old they become nicer people. They’ve been around so long they grow on you, like an old coat you love. Arnold should get back to making Movies. He can play an old fart with a pack of dogs…
A dogged blogger
If you’re dogged, you are as obstinate and tenacious as a dog who smells a bone. An earlier definition of this adjective was more general, meaning “having the qualities of a dog.” Today, though, if someone describes you as dogged, they simply mean that you won’t stop until you get what you want.
Vocabulary. com
You know me as the Gloomy Boomer. But what I am is what I do. And what I do is Blog. That’s all I really care about. I could become a dog. That would be the best. I would suddenly lose all my old fart torments. I would be as serene as Guru Nanak.
Shortly after proclaiming his successor, Nanak died on 22 September 1539 in Kartarpur, at the age of 70. According to Sikh hagiography, his body was never found. When the quarreling Hindus and Muslims tugged at the sheet covering his body, they found instead a heap of flowers—and so Nanak’s simple faith would, in course of time, flower into a religion, beset by its own contradictions and customary practices.[48]
Wikipedia
I blog because it satisfies some need I can’t articulate or I’m too lazy to articulate. Say I had one wish. What would it be? To become a dog? No. My wish would be…
I can’t imagine what I would wish for. IF, say, I wanted to be a nice guy, I would wish for world peace…
World Peace?
What would world peace look like? Here’s my idea of World Peace:
A world with zero Human Beings. The dominant mammal? Prairie Dogs. Because they’ve already proven they can exist without killing each other off or fucking up the environment.
A black-tailed prairie dog town in Texas was reported to cover 25,000 sq mi (64,000 km2) and included 400,000,000 individuals.[4] Prior to habitat destruction, the species may have been the most abundant prairie dog in central North America. It was one of two prairie dogs described by the Lewis and Clark Expedition in the journals and diaries of their expedition.
Wikipedia
Life Expectancy
This morning I hear on the radio that Life Expectancy here in the good old U.S.A. is now 77 and a half years. Down a bit from pre-covid days. 77 plus years is pretty long. Way long if you figure Prairie Dogs only live three to four years in the wild.
How much time do you need?
I’m good with seventy seven years. Ask me when I turn (if I turn) seventy seven and I might have a different answer.
That gives me seven years left. This is an important fact to keep front and center of my mind. Seven years left…if I’m lucky. Maybe more if I’m way lucky.
People I know are living way longer than seventy seven years.
I mean, look at former prez Jimmy Carter. 99 and hanging on. Shit. It’s almost as if Death figures him a bad bet. He’s been in hospice care for over nine months. Here’s a snap of him attending his wife’s memorial service.
Nothing was keeping him away.
I always liked Rosalyn Carter. I was never a fan of Jimmy Carter. Way too sanctimonious. But like I said about Arnold, people get real old they kind of grow on you, like a coat you love. The fact he showed up for his wife’s memorial service softens my opinion of him. I mean, look at the dude. He’s a breathing cadaver…
And yet he lives on.
What do you bet he makes it to 100?
I’m not gonna make it to 99
I don’t even want to. I mean, Jesus, what’m I gonna be doing at ninety nine? Dribbling saliva on my bib. Roll’n my eyes at the nurse. Suck’n down spooned baby food. Crap’n my pants…garbl’n some mumbo jumbo about Pioneer Days at Chico State…wishing I was a dog.
Man! I’m depressed thinking this shit.
Makes me feel like robbing a bank and doing a get-away like John Dillinger.
John Dillinger robbed more banks in a shorter amount of time than any bank robber in U.S. history. He also escaped from prison twice. One escape he carved a pistol out of wood, painted it black with shoe polish, and used it to force the guard to release him.
Dillinger with his wooden gun.
Then he escaped in the Sherriff’s car. This lady:
Sheriff Holley wasn’t too pleased to have her car snatched.
Sadly, Dillinger didn’t last much longer following his escape.
After evading police in four states for almost a year, Dillinger was wounded and went to his father’s home to recover. He returned to Chicago in July 1934 and sought refuge in a brothel owned by Ana Cumpănaș, who later informed authorities of his whereabouts. On July 22, 1934, local and federal law-enforcement officers closed in on the Biograph Theater.[4] When BOI agents moved to arrest Dillinger as he exited the theater, he tried to flee, but was shot; the deadly shot was ruled justifiable homicide.[5][6]
Wikipedia
John Dillinger lived thirty one years.
Less than half of the current life expectancy.
The luckiest Human Being that ever lived
I only know this much. I will not make it to ninety nine.
You gotta really want to make it to ninety nine.
It’s not a wish of mine.
I’m not complaining. I’m already happy I made it to seventy. It’s a hell of a long time compared to a Prairie Dog or a regular dog. What have I learned in seventy years on planet earth?
Not much.
Almost nothing, to be honest.
What was expected of me?
Only that I would grow up to be a respectable law abiding human being…this wish made by my mother, I suppose. I never asked her what she expected of me. I don’t know exactly what she expected of me. Nor am I certain of what anybody else expected of me. Perhaps this puts me in a rather unique position among human beings living here in the good old U.S.A.. A man who was never expected to be much of anything.
This could make me among the luckiest human beings that ever lived!
So what do I do with this luck?
I’m still getting around on my own steam.
Forget about wishing I was a dog.
Maybe I should keep blogging until I figure something out.
What do you think?
7 thoughts on “I Wish I Was A Dog”
So knowing that we won’t even be much longer on the planet earth you would think we would be more at peace with things. That we wouldn’t worry as much . That we would stop striving for things . It’s not like that though , at least for me. We should all be working on lightening our earthly load . Getting rid of things not acquiring more material crap. Letting go of old grievances being nicer to people. I if anything have become more cynical 🤨 broken hearted and downright pissed . Maybe even profoundly depressed. After all the older you get the more you see the game and how futile it all is . Nobody wins . And what does it even mean ….
Nobody could a said it better. You should be blogging!
So knowing that we won’t even be much longer on the planet earth you would think we would be more at peace with things. That we wouldn’t worry as much . That we would stop striving for things . It’s not like that though , at least for me. We should all be working on lightening our earthly load . Getting rid of things not acquiring more material crap. Letting go of old grievances being nicer to people. I if anything have become more cynical 🤨 broken hearted and downright pissed . Maybe even profoundly depressed. After all the older you get the more you see the game and how futile it all is . Nobody wins . And what does it even mean ….
Look at it this way, when the time comes, say
while taking a shit in the morning, or fucking, or gorging a Big Mac — you die: At the moment of death your consciousness evaporates into nothingness, the same eternal void from which you emerged, Cleopatra, Keats, Rasputin, Judy Garland and all the previous 11,000,000,000,000 human souls emerged as a bubble of consciousness to serve out their sentence on this speck of dust. . Be grateful for death, though.. Imagine if you had to live forever alone….long after earth imploded and the galaxy darkened; and you were cast bodiless into the void.. You would be beyond alone…formless…drifting forever through what astronomers call the Mother Field…an endless sea of the imponderable.
Accept the good news.
We are zeros with faces painted on , melting under the heated sun of tick-tick. The only consolation is that the monsters, Stalin, Pol Pot, Hitler, et al., get to die big time, too. If the rich could buy their way out of dying, the poor would be born dead.
Hamlet said it all.. If you want stronger brew try Blanchot and Cioran, especially The Temptation to Exist. What the hell does it matter if once you are dead, you never knew you existed? Enjoy the light you have, but keep your thinking about oblivion to yourself. Don’t bend over to take it up the ass from power. You never will stand up straighter again. And don’t scare the children. Leave them their island of childhood; and don’t distract adult consumers from their life-long distraction following the curtain of possessions they dare not look beyond. Pity their self-imposed blindness. Kierkegaard got it down but is anyone strong to meet his rictus in the eye to see one’s own bleached skull? Nothingness without a beginning into which you made a minuscule appearance, like a fart in a bathtub and the nothingness that follows like a pebble into a bottomless well.
Fuck paying off your credit cards, or struggling in the swill of regret. Forget yourself. Lift the weight from the suffering of others: children, men, women or transsexual. Help those without help — else who will? Live you life for others and make a difference, a Tikkun, as the Yiddish expression has it. Kindness is a momentary caress from eternity. Fuck Elon Musk, that needle-dick bully, he’ll shrivel like all the rest. As for Trump, that orange-talc haired rictus with a comb over who is a pustule of evil that will splatter on its own. He is a pumpkin of shit that has poisoned the pasture of innocence. He’s not even good for manure. His aroma is cadaverine and putrescine. You think the portrait of Dorian Gray was frightening. Wait till you see the scissors of time and fate catch up with America’s wanna-be dictator: a swirl of odiferous confetti.
Affirmations from Bleaktopia. Nice!
Nice one Stewart!
Good job on this article! I really like how you presented your facts and how you made it interesting and easy to understand. Thank you.