"Somebody's going to emergency, somebody's going to jail. You find somebody to love in this world, you better hang on tooth and nail...the wolf is always at the door...."  lyric from 'In a New York Minute' by Don Henley

I have seen the following silliness before, but tonight when it showed up again in my email and just wanted to jump onto my blog, I let it. No spiritual significance here, other than to marvel at how wonderfully different we are (as evidenced by the anthropomorphizing of our pets).  And  just for the record...cats are weirder than dogs.

But, what's even weirder is that  9 year old rescued Siberian Husky/German Shepherd-probably-some-wolf-in-the-woodpile Geronimo, aka Damn Dog, aka You Dog You, has some cat-like qualities.  I am taking a huge liberty in trying to translate a recent interview I had with Damn Dog, wherein I asked him what he did with his days and told him some other dogs' responses. I am working on more effectively channeling his authentic voice, but for now this will have to do.  Damn Dog is a dog's-dog, but I swear he's part cat.  Geronimo's responses to the interview are in blue. Any misrepresentations are purely mine. He was very clear.

Ostensibly the 2  original dog and cat diaries are from the same household. 

DOG DIARY

Wolf pup from Defenders of Wildlife website. Looks a lot like Geronimo must have as a pup.

8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing! 
Damn Dog: 
     As long as it's raw hamburger, buffalo or elk, I'm in. Try any of that high quality turkey or chicken, or gawd-awful salmon (what kind of a northern dog do you think I am??) and I'll lay beside it and not eat until I die.  
     Oh, and the kibble thing.  Don't try to sell me on those little round pieces of processed plant food and animal by-products being the same thing as real food.  Don't try mixing it in. I'll pick around it if it takes me all day.
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
Damn Dog:   
     I hate riding in the car. I howl and pace the entire time hoping that the door will swing open on a curve and I'll jump out and find a bush to whiz on and a cow to eat. Now THAT would be my favorite thing.
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
Damn Dog: 
     Don't you people know about the Iditerod?   It's this fun thing where you use your large feet to snowshoe across thousands of miles of snow--for fun.  A walk in the park? That's for sissies like poodles and mini-dachs.   
     What I do with Beth or Andy every morning between 5 and 6am is a watered down version of the Iditerod.  After I've howled and ululated for 30 minutes to wake them up from their boring slumbers, and only after they've taken 10 l-o-n-g  minutes to put on coats, hats, mittens and shoes (humans are so ill-equipped for life on this planet--they have no hair to speak of, bad eyesight and can't smell worth a damn)..sigh...I trot about 20 feet in front of them, or more correctly,  I trot when I can.  At this time of day they don't trot very well.  They stumble a lot.  I take it in stride.  If they'd put a harness and a cart on me...now THAT would be my favorite thing.  Maybe they could sit in the cart and drink their silly, nasty-smelling coffee and be nicer and glad to be up at this hour if I pulled them in the cart or on skis or something.  They have bad attitudes sometimes. 
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing! 
Damn Dog: 
     Usually. When I feel like it, I do admit to liking to be petted.  What really irritates me though is when Beth rubs my luxurious fur the wrong way because she thinks I like it.  She's nice enough, but sometimes I wish she'd just ignore me a little bit.  You know what I mean?  
12:00 PM - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing! 
Damn Dog: 
     I've wagged my tail twice in the last 3 months. Humans are really pretty simple-minded and easy to train.  If I wag my tail at everything they do, how will they understand what I really want them to do?  You have to be clear with these people.  Wagging your tail all the time is bad inter-species communication and leads to confusion on the part of the humans.
1:00 PM - Played in the yard! My favorite thing! 
Damn Dog: 
     I cannot fathom what it is that's fun about chasing a ball around and around and around.  I have some pretty goofy cousins out there, and I like to smell them and all, but they just give dog-hood a bad name with all the running after balls and sticks and such-not.  Play, like tail-wagging, is to be reserved for special occasions.  
3:00 PM - Ran back and forth in the hall! My favorite thing! 
Damn Dog:  
      I'll be polite and keep my opinions to myself.  Phiff if all I have to say about this behavior.   However, I do occasionally do a 'crazy dog' routine where I run as fast as I can around the yard dodging stuff and screaming to a halt and then taking off and doing it again.  I'm not trying to justify or explain it.  It just feels good.
5:00 PM - Milk bones! My favorite thing!  
Damn Dog:
     If it ain't raw meat, it ain't worth my time of day.  Beth and Andy keep bringing home these bits of rawhide and green things shaped like--like fru-fru doggie toothbrushes? I'm not sure. Sometimes at the drive-through or walk-through coffee shop or at the bank some well-intentioned person will hand me a foul-smelling biscuit made out of plant material and animal by-product (see my opinion about 'dog food') and expect me to eat it.  Sometimes I try to be polite, take it and bury it under the front seat.  Sometimes I won't even take it, and they seem offended. THEY'RE offended.  Do you see the irony of that? 
     And then there's the stuff that they say I should like, like pigs ears.  I happen to like pigs, and don't really fancy eating their ears. The people say they're like big potato chips.  Since I've never even touched a potato, and don't plan on doing so, this accolade doesn't mean a lot.  I just want a frozen hot dog every now and then, or a real bone with real meat (and this does NOT include poultry or fish) on it.  I wish they'd save their money and buy me a half a cow to munch on.  I could bury most of it in the iris bed for later, but I might eat some of it now.  
7:00 PM - Got to play tug! My favorite thing! 
Damn Dog: 
     Are you shining me on?  And entertain the possibility that the human might win?   Fits under the category of wagging tail and playing: don't do it, don't want to, can't make me. 
8:00 PM - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing! 
Damn Dog: 
     Well, I do love to snuggle on the couch with them while they watch endless reruns of West Wing, Northern Exposure, Big Love, Brothers and Sisters, and Frazier, with that little rat-dog, Eddie.  Whatever.   
11:00 PM - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Damn Dog:
     Favorite? Define your terms. I do like sleeping on the bed and cuddling.  But favorite? Better than the Newspaper Hydrant? Better than a long slow trot? Better than a frozen hotdog on a summer day?  Whatever.

CAT DIARY

Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates
and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet.  I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am.

They continue to pick me up and handle me, an obvious attempt to subvert me. There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs. I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.  The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released -- and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

Tonight I will again lay on their heads while they sleep and hope to smother them.

"Somebody's going to emergency, somebody's going to jail. You find somebody to love in this world, you better hang on tooth and nail...the wolf is always at the door...."  lyric from In a New York Minute by Don Henley

Here's to the love of our pets...let's hang on tooth and nail! 

What we can learn from these diaries about how our perception is everything!  So here's the question: "is it--whatever 'it' is-- heaven or jail?"