Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

Because I spend almost every day alone, at least most of the day, I have lots of time, as you might imagine, for thinking about myself.  Myself and the future of democracy, but myself, certainly. This has yielded the following insight, which I'm sure you will find fascinating (me me me me me.  Me!) (and this is worthy of a block indent):
I have a powerful case of Don't-You-Tell-Me-What-to-Do syndrome, with ancillary symptoms of You're-Not-the-Boss-of-Me.
Today, as on most days, I got up, put on my take a walk clothes, made myself some breakfast while working out some of the kinks I worked up during the nighttime hours (also called "sleep"), read the paper, checked my e-mail and The Huffington Post in case democracy faltered during the night.  And so on.  Bruiser, who knows that mornings usually result in a walk for him, is very patient for about 75 percent of this, but about the time I've refreshed Huffington for the third time, he comes over and says, Hey!  and then Hey! again.  Because a dog has only so much patience, and then Hey! it's time for the walk already.

Today I decided I'd get everything ready without Bruiser noticing, so as to avoid the nudging and the standing in my way and the gaze boring into mine.  Because all that amounts to a dog telling me what to do and trying to be the boss of me.  A dog.  Bossing me around.  And by God, I just can't stand that.  Why, I'll show him.  I'll delay the walk until I dang well feel like taking a walk.  A walk that makes me feel good, invariably, that lifts my spirits and eases up the kinks and takes me out into God's own world, &c.  

I'd like to report that being aware of this absurd and yet apparently permanent state of teenage rebellion undoes its stubborn power.  I'd like to report that.  I really would. I would especially like to say that I realize that MY DOG IS NOT TRYING TO BOSS ME AROUND.  My solution, as of today, is to try to beat Bruiser at his own game, starting the walk before he expects it.  This will work for approximately one and a half days, because then he'll recalculate and start with the nudging at an earlier hour.  That dog! He needs to get over himself! I already HAVE a mom and dad! 


  1. Maybe we could have a dog training seminar called "You're Not The Boss of Me" and the dogs could sit at attention and then, when we felt like it, we could acknowledge them. With walks and treats. And then we could say, "You're not the boss of me!" to which they could respond with laying down and looking at us mournfully over their nicely crossed paws.
    Or not.
    But you are the boss of you, which is how we say sabbatical in sabbatical language, which clearly dogs don't speak, seeing as how they are always and forever on sabbatical.

  2. Tricky puppy. Or tricky mama? Hmm. Maybe Bruiser too doesn't want the boss. Perhaps you could each go on individual walks whereby the leash is but a figment of both of your (collective) imaginations.

    Word Verification? Comma. Finally something I can spell.



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