What’s it like to be a dog?
Depends on the dog I reckon.
The dogs I spent most time with, my two dogs, seem a little stressed out at times, but mostly they seem good. They’ll get stressed out by shadows, or odd lights, or not being around me or Abby. They seem excited about smells I know nothing about, and they love seeing a few people, or anyone at all.
Overall, things seem good for these dogs. Their life, day to day and more broadly, seems good. I would take it over a considerable percentage of the lives one could experience on Earth.
They just seem to float, to take things in stride (except for a knock at the door, not in stride, that.)
I’m biased, but I think they appear almost drunk in their behavior, at all times.
God knows I’d never put them behind the wheel of an automobile.
Yesterday was the first post I ever wrote while a bit drunk. Not terribly, not fall over. I had a few beers while playing Dungeons and Dragons and I came home and I wrote that post. It’s not my best, perhaps not my worst. But it got me thinking about dogs and drunkenness and the things we do to modulate our congnition.
I had a conversation once, on a bike ride, with a friend, about a flask I had brought on the ride. I sort of waxed poetic about the fact that a flask is kind of fun, it’s this little pocket held thing that, when judiciously applied, can just shift your whole metal position. It’s this silver thing, decorated and beautiful, made simply for grownups to make their perspective a bit more water colored, a bit more like a dogs. That just seems so whimsical and nice.
He passionately agreed.
I only learned later that his relationship with alcohol is a bit abusive.