I am a dog.
I make no bones about it.
There’s nothing I can do about it.
I came into this world a dog and that’s what I am going to stay.
I’m a big dog.
There’s nothing I can do about that either.
Little dogs tend to snap and snarl and bark because they’re little.
I don’t need to do any of that, because I know I’m big.
They know it too.
That’s not my problem.
If they do have a problem with it, then it’s their problem.
I walk away on my big paws.
They can yap and yip all they want on theirs.
They were born little and they’re going to stay little.
Dogs have a pretty simple way of sorting things out.
We bark.
All of us bark.
I bark when I’m happy. I bark when I’m sad. I bark when I try to get some attention or when I want to tell someone something really important, but I don’t bark when I get angry. I’m different that way. I tend to stand still and stare and wait. I suppose its my breed. My father used to say, “Don’t fight. Don’t ever fight. Don’t ever ever fight. But if you do fight, kill the son of a bitch.”
I don’t ever fight and I’ve never tried to kill anyone or anything, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t tried to kill me. I don’t understand people who kill or injure for fun. I call it recreational abuse. I’ve had my share. It didn’t change me, but it left its mark. I don’t walk so well and I can’t run, but I get plenty of exercise and I’m in a better place now so life is good. The people who take care of me love me and that makes all the difference. You can be in good physical condition and still be miserable, so I consider myself fortunate.
I’m a dog.
I’m a good dog.
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