Philosophy of a Bulldog
   
   Don't take this the wrong way, but for the longest time now, I have
been  trying to imitate my dog. Not his look, which is furry, Red Brindle and White
  Not his walk, which, can be more of a waddle and his tail…
I don't need a tail. I have enough trouble buckling my pants as it is!

   Also, I can live without his bathroom habits, which can be summed up this
   way: "Tree or bush? Tree or bush? Aw, how about right here on the  grass..."
   
   No, what I admire about my dog is his fascination with the simple routine of life.
   Every day for him is like boarding the space shuttle.
   
   For example:
   
   In the morning, I tumble out of bed, grumble, yawn, open the door, and  ta-da!
   There he is, the canine answer to Richard Simmons. He is so worked up,
 he doesn't know which way to go, toward me or away from me. So he does both.
  "Oh boy oh boy oh boy!" he seems to pant.
   
   "It's morning and I'm gonna eat!" Never mind that he has eaten every morning
   since he was born. Or that he's had the same food every morning since
he was born. Never mind. He pulls me downstairs and waits
   breathlessly as I scoop yet another helping of boring brown nuggets
into his bowl. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Food, food, food!" I yawn. Three minutes  later,
   he is off the food thing and into a new obsession: going out. Again, he  runs
   forward and backward. "I'm going out! I'm going out! Is this great or what?" Never mind that going out has not changed one bit since we've lived here. He is so thrilled by the notion of
   "exit" that he almost knocks the door down. He bolts into the
backyard as if heading for Tomorrowland with a sack full of "E" tickets. I slouch and
 yawn again. The great indoors. Then comes the "bathroom" routine,
which I already have described.
   
   Humans deal with these functions begrudgingly. Not my Bulldog. It's a real thrill
   for him. He scouts for the perfect spot as if looking for beachfront real
   estate. "Tree or bush? Tree or bush?"
  Then, once his business is taken care of, and I make a mental note where
we're going to have to shovel come summer-he is off the going out obsession
 and onto a new one: going back in. It doesn't matter than he was in just
two minutes ago. "Things have changed! Things have changed! (he
 seems to pant.) "I gotta get in there! I gotta check it out! Hurry up,
  hurry up! "When I open the door, he bolts in, races back and forth-looking
for space aliens, I suppose-and when he doesn't find any, he isn't disappointed.
   Instead, he snarls at some ratty toy he's played with for months, throws
  it into the air with his teeth, and watches it land. "Look at that!" he seems to say.

"It goes up, it comes down!" 
    

As I make a cup of coffee, he jumps up to watch. "Whatcha doin?
Whatcha  doin?
   Coffee, huh? That's amazing!" He then clamps onto my leg and does a dance
   that, were it the early '50s, I might call the "Hootchie Coo." I am not  sure
   what he gets out of this-"Oh boy, a leg! Oh boy, a leg!"-but he seems to be
   having a better time than many of the dates I've had. When I disengage and
   disappear behind a door, he lies down outside and waits for me to come
 out again. If it is only 30 seconds later, he will still react as if I were a released hostage.
   
   The sunny side. Now, my Bulldog does not work. He does not pay taxes. He does not
   create anything new (unless you consider the bushes outside). But he
 also doesn't need clothes, doesn't covet cars or jewelry, and doesn't care
  about houses, as long as he can find a sunny spot on the floor and lie there
 for a  few hours.
   
   Meanwhile, I am bored with my same routine. Getting up is a drag. I can't
  get excited about breakfast. And going out then coming back only makes me
  wonder how many flies I've let in. So I'm trying to imitate my Bulldog.
   
   I'm trying to find wonder in the everyday. After all, when you think
 about it, it is pretty remarkable that you open your eyes each morning. And
  since every few hours you get to quench your hunger, well, that's a thrill,
 when you consider the alternative. So while I can't match my Bulldog's drool, I
 am trying to match his zeal. Don't worry. If you come to visit, I will
not clamp on your leg and do the Hootchie Coo.
   
   On the other hand, that sunny spot on the floor looks pretty
tempting...
   
   The End...