In the Dog House

I love my dogs. I’ve never thought of them in terms of ownership, but rather as sentient beings that share my life and home. “Others”.

During the past week, I visited a couple of places on the Internet where people referred to pets as “furpeople”. I have to confess that I find this catchphrase extremely amusing.

FURPEOPLE?  The name perplexes me. It alternately makes me think of Wegman dogs  or conjures an image in my mind of a cross between Disney characters and frat house revelers. Animals, dressed like humans, who are rowdy debaucherous partiers.

If these “Others” who share my life were people, fur or otherwise, I’d have tossed them out on their ears a long time ago. Because it’s a strange breed of “people” who would find this:

 

 

and this:

 

acceptable ways to personalize their environs.

I love my dogs with a depth likening them to surrogate children, but I don’t lose sight of their “otherness”. They are distinctly other and it’s precisely that distinction that makes them precious and delightful, and able to get away with all the insane misbehavior.

 “Through tattered clothes, small vices do appear. (Robes and) furred gowns hide all.”          – William Shakespeare

Celebrate your dog’s otherness – it’s what makes them, them.