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“I don’t get it,” Fido said. “As a general rule, people love dogs, so why the constant beat-down?”
“I’m not quite sure where you’re going with this.”
“I’m talking about dog talk by humans. Have you ever heard the expression ‘Sick as a cat?’”
“Nope,” said I. “Your point is well taken.”
“I’ve got a million of them,” Fido said. “It’s not at all pleasant, either. Believe me when I say it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. Why a dog would eat another dog is quite beyond me.”
Fido had just finished watching the Westminster Dog Show on television. He said he couldn’t understand why people fawn all over dogs but treat them with such disrespect in language.
“To lead a dog’s life describes a person who has an unhappy existence, doggone it,” he yelped.
And when we work like a dog, it makes us dog tired!”
“Well put, you old, big, red lug.”
Fido looked out the window.
“At least we’re not in the city,” he said. “In some neighborhoods, it’s a dog’s life every single day.”
“Still,” I said to Fido, “every dog has its day. And as an older dog, you don’t have to learn a lot of new tricks. Better to just dog it, you know?”
“What’s meaner than a junkyard dog mean?” he said.
“I wouldn’t get too worked up over that,” I said. “Some dogs’ barks are worse than their bites.”
Fido was not mollified.
“When people get into trouble, why do they get sent to the doghouse?”
“I really don’t know,” I said, “and I could talk with you about this all day long. But I’ve got places to go and people to see, and I have to get dressed up. Not to mention I have to go see a man about a dog before I leave.”
“See?” Fido said. “You’ll be putting on the dog. And,” he continued, “don’t stay too awfully late.
“Otherwise you’ll pay for it tomorrow by drinking the hair of the dog.”
With this, Fido rolled over onto his back and just howled and howled.