My Son is a Dog.

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There are a lot of things I just don’t understand.Bud

How a plane gets off the ground.  Microwaves.  The unbelievably cold temperature inside of movie theaters.  Why every pencil I’ve ever used is a #2.

How copiers work.  The complex engineering system known as an intercom (I have no idea which button to push).

And last but not least, mandated testing.

Oh, and I almost forgot… junior high boys.

But my greatest unsolved mystery is why humans can’t get along with each other, but they are capable of falling in love with other species.

I’m talking about dogs.

We love them.

At least most of us love them.

All the people I trust love them (I just don’t get you cat people).

We absolutely love these animals  and they walk on four legs and have brains the size of golf balls. 

They also use our yards as restrooms (when you think about it, this isn’t really socially acceptable).

They tear stuff up that’s not theirs (someone owes me 12 bucks for my shredded undies).

We even overlook the fact they seem to have a dysfunctional relationship with the UPS guy and his big brown truck (Buddy and that driver really need some counseling).

They eat us out of house and home and then belch about it.

If you really think about it, they’re sort of disgusting (breath… bad).

And yet we talk to them like they understand.

We spend hours petting them and taking care of their every want and need.

We exercise them when we don’t have time to take care of ourselves.

We hold them like babies (not me and Buddy… other crazies).

We even treat them better than our own children (sorry, Evil Spawn).

And they are dogs.


Not humans.


We seem to get along better with them than we do with our relatives, coworkers, or neighbors.

They become the center of our lives within minutes of meeting them.

Now, if you are a dog person all of this makes perfect sense.  If you aren’t a dog person, you probably think I’m weird.

But I don’t care.

Nor do I have the time to convince you Buddy the Dog and I have a special bond you will never understand.

Plus, I have to go.

He needs his belly scratched and you have no idea how grumpy he can get when his belly is itchy.

Maybe I should be an administrator of an animal school.

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4 Responses to “My Son is a Dog.”

  1. Anthony
    on Jul 12th, 2011
    @ 9:04 pm

    Hopefully this helps…..

  2. Alex
    on Jul 12th, 2011
    @ 11:20 pm

    Another great post … Thanks.

  3. Jay Childs
    on Jul 12th, 2011
    @ 11:27 pm


    I understand about dogs. As a history scholar and teacher, I see what humans are and how we have created a civilization based on the animals that we have been able to domesticate. You may not get cat peoiple, but their history is bound in the history of the sacred. Cats are mammalian, like us, but they share an eye-shape with the deadliest of the reptililian species, the very symbols of evil and danger. This creates a mystique that we can never ignore.

    Horses, chickens, pigs, cattle, goats, sheep…our relationships with these domesticated beasts range from the simple to the complex. Chickens are simple. We eat them and their unborn spawn. Horses and dogs, however, are reflections of our very souls because we use them as tools in the domestication of all the others.

    This is especially true of all the great schoolmasters of my own memory. Ask any kid who had any contact with an East Coast prep school. Nine out of 10 will relate the legend of that one great bachelor schoolmaster and his best friend. I remember the Dean of Students of my old prep school. He raised an entire dynasty of obedient, responsive Golden Retrievers as symbols of his loving mastery over the rest of us. We loved those dogs and we craved their fellowship in the good graces of our beloved Dean. Your love for Buddy is symbolic of your role as shepherd of your own flock of clueless, adorable, clumsy, wayward, and invaluable little lambs.

    Michael, I am soon letting go of my own son. He will live with his mother in the coming year and may never come under my roof again as a child. He leaves with me, however, the faithful best friend we have shared for four years. Part of my agenda for the month, actually, is to find a brother dog for my dear Lily. I have spent my adult life raising sons. My Lily is truly my daughter. She was chosen and rescued by my dear, departed firstborn son along with me and his little brother, and she is all I have left of him.

    I guess what I am saying is that you have helped me to realize that my dog is my own child. I have resisted the term “Pet Parent” as one more PC epithet as loathsome as all the others. I am learning that, at my age, I am enjoying being proven wrong. It is better to be wrong than to be right. We learn more that way.

    Thank you, Michael, for your ministry to your colleagues. I salute you as a consummate educator. Your blog proves that you are born to this calling and that you really cannot help yourself!

  4. Darrell
    on Jul 13th, 2011
    @ 8:58 am

    My dog greetsme at the door, before I am able to get the key in. When he is upstairs and I come in, I can hear him sniffing and scratching at the door to sprint down the stair. Where are my kids, who knows. I hear a faint “hi” or “hello” when I get home but who is at the door ready to lick me all over my face, yup “the doggy”.

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