Look, I’m simple. A ball, some food, and I’m good. No ball? I’ll take a plastic bottle. Some dogs feel like they have to show off. But even the most insightful dog philosopher still just says “woof,” at the end of the day. I don’t philosophize. I can’t even talk, which makes me wonder how you’re writing this down. I’m a dog. (Michael S.) Adopt Bonggor (Toby) and many others at Austin Pets Alive!
Oh, I didn’t see you there. I was just applying Giorgio Agamben’s concept of bare life to dogs–I call it Canis Sacer. Would it be too postmodern of me to ask you for a dog treat from 17th century France, delivered in a plastic bowl in the shape of a fire hydrant? Look, any idiot is gonna agree that Descartes’ ontological argument for the existence of dog is prima facie ridonkulous. He stole it from St. Anselm, anyhoo. The last person I told about this theory just rolled his eyes and said, “OK, Bjumr.” Such a prole. (Michael S) Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash
I can herd that. Last week some cattle got loose from Butch’s farm. I took it upon myself to herd them back into the pen. Then on Tuesday I herded two sheep. It was a piece of cake. See those schoolchildren over there? Herded them. Group of nursing home residents on an outing? Herded. I can even herd my own kind. That poodle and the lab mix? Herded away from my food. Oh, and what’s that? You’re asking about those cats over there? Uh, let’s talk about something else. (Michael S, inspired by Portlandia) Photo by Josh Hild on Unsplash
It’s delicate. I don’t want them all–some of them contain chemicals or materials that I don’t want entering my system. I only want a few of these delicious baubles of water. That one I just caught was magnifique. But that one–lots of plastic microparticles. I have a discerning palate, and I don’t just lap it up willy-nilly like some of my unrefined brethren. It’s a process. (Michael S) Photo by Fachy Marín on Unsplash
At 35, you said we’re going to get treats. At 36, you clarified that they would be yummy. Then 37 came along and you reiterated the treat promise. At 38, I started to doubt this whole situation. So 39 is it. This is my Waterloo. I shall not move from this spot until a treat has been delivered directly to my mouth. (Michael S) Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash