If anyone tells you they’re having a “dog of a day”, you might empathise, sympathise, wrap a friendly arm around them, offer an encouraging “chin up”.
Try telling that to my dog.
In the Winter months, he wakes up in a bed full of blankets, in front of a heater, before stretching and walking through the dog flap for his morning relief.
He’ll then proceed to a window that’s catching the morning sun, find a position of some comfort – occasionally belly to the ceiling – and wait patiently to be fed.
He’ll probably get some dog food mixed with some fresh chicken and any other treats which might be left over from last night’s dinner.
“Looks like a dog’s breakfast,” people will say of something they perceive to be an ugly representation of whatever it is they’re looking at. An assignment, a drawing, a packed lunch.
If somebody was to suggest this column was a dog’s breakfast, I’d think of chicken with a drizzling of gravy and some baked potato. Not too bad at all.
The dog eats what he can, resumes position at an afternoon window, walks the block of an afternoon while taking in smells they say only a human with superpowers could decipher, let alone endure.
If all the other dogs in our neighbourhood really do have scents unique to themselves, there’s a smorgasbord there for our mutt.
Whiskers in overdrive, energy levels on high, it’s half an hour he treasures like a youngster in their late teens at a night club. I was going to say the only difference is that the dog marks his territory at every post, but then again …
Home we go, the dog high on urination heads for the water bowl, offers his loyal owner a head to scratch, and heads for the bed. So the cycle resumes until next morning when groundhog day kicks in.
I’ve seen a few street fights where the word “dog” was uttered by young gentlemen looking to share some friendly advice before sizing up the opposition with a roundarm to the forehead.
Thinking about my own dog, he may consider aggressive action against an unwanted intruder, but he’ll have a very good reason – a much better reason than those protecting their turf in a senseless drunken street brawl.
My dog’s a lover, not a fighter. A little bit of a loner, but full of gratitude and compassion when he gets the chance.
He’s certainly done nothing deserving of the bad rap he gets in the English language, cussed and cursed by those whose manners are much worse than his own.
I’m not sure he ever has an overly bad day, but if he did I wonder whether he’d be referring to it as a “grubby, low-life human type day”.
So next time you’re having a “dog of a day”, I’d ask that you re-think. Because it’s open to interpretation, and if you’re from the Whiney Wayne household, you’ve probably had a relaxing day in the sun, some home-cooked food and a sugar rush in the park.
You’ve not had a bad day at all.
