I often wonder why people post pictures of their dogs. I don’t think dog pictures are stupid—far be it from me to suggest that. It’s just that my dog, Biscuit, is so much more attractive than other people’s dogs, so I often wonder, “What’s the point, guys?” How do you justify so many pictures of a dog that just doesn’t live up to Biscuit’s beauty? Are you trying to compensate?
That’s why I try to keep Biscuit pictures to a minimum. I feel like it’s my service to the world, so that people can think their dogs are cute. I don’t want to humiliate anyone.
The truth is, everyone and their dog want a relationship like ours. We have a special bond worthy of Hallmark movies about men and their dogs (I’m actually still waiting for Hallmark to send us a movie contract to make this a reality—please let me know how to get in touch with them if you have any info).
Since I graduated, I have made it a priority to walk with Biscuit every day. Notice that I didn’t say “take Biscuit for a walk” or “walk Biscuit”; we are equals, and there will be no dominance between us. You’re already probably really jealous of us just by that distinction; I can tell by the way you’re asking yourself if this blog is worth your time. You may say it comes from a lack of interest in a love story between my dog and I, but I know it comes from pure envy. It’s okay, I understand. I don’t empathize, but I get it.
One of the first things I tried to do with Biscuit on our walks was go without a leash. I wanted it to be clear to the neighborhood and the world that I don’t own my beloved dog; if I kept her on a leash, how could I prove that dogs have equal rights? Dogs are people too.
For a couple of weeks, I would walk next to Djog Unchained (the J is silent), and it was like we were just two human friends on an adventure together. And that’s what we are, minus the part about her being a canine. Minor details.
I could spend hours telling you how Biscuit and Ben are practically synonymous. We both have absurd amounts of energy, but we’re also known for being insanely unfazed by life. We are both known for being abnormally attractive to the rest of our species (okay, that’s true of Biscuit). We both pee when we’re excited (that’s half-true, but guess which half?).
We’re also both hated by our peers. The dogs that call themselves our neighbors are kind of jerks. They bark at Biscuit whenever she’s out; I can’t tell if they’re cat-calling (what is that for dogs?) or mad because no leash or man can hold her down, but either way they sound pissed. They’re always… dogging on her, if you will.
For me, I get a lot of dirty looks from human neighbors just because Biscuit sometimes walks to their front doors and only because I can’t really control her roaming when she’s off the leash—sue me. I don’t see how it’s my fault that we’re living a real-life version of Sherlock Holmes and Watson, where Sherlock is the dog and I’m her faithful sidekick waiting to see what she digs up in people’s gardens. What are these people so afraid of? If Biscuit finds a human head, that’s on you. If we find a large sum of money, you’re dumb for hiding it there. Dibs!
About a week ago I was walking with Biscuit when she cocked her head backwards and put her ears on high alert, which tells me a car is usually behind us (I have these noise-cancelling ear buds, so please don’t ever sneak up on us while we’re out and about). But this time, it wasn’t a car. It was three Snoopy-looking beagles, or should I say Snoop D-o-triple-g? (I probably shouldn’t.)
These three dogs had managed to knock a board of fencing down and escaped to follow in Biscuit’s paw-prints. They ran right up to us and started sniffing Biscuit; they wanted their close-up with a true celebrity. They wanted to study under the realest to ever do it. But Biscuit isn’t in this for the fame; she wasn’t having it. She started growling at the dogs. Startled, they took off into various yards, afraid of their own role model. For the first time since we started our experiment, I not only had to leash Biscuit, I had to tie her to a fire hydrant while I retrieved the three dogs and returned them to their owner.
This is the moment I began to realize I had given Biscuit too much power. Not only had she solved the Baha Men’s mystery of who let the dogs out (her animal magnetism drew them out of the safety of their own yard), she was mad at me for leashing her while I did my civic duty to return escaped canine convicts. If your dog has never given you the cold-shoulder, count your blessings. Biscuit finished the walk with me, but she was sassy about it.
I could tell unleashing her had created a monster. Aside from this incident, Biscuit now spends her days sitting at the backdoor and guilt-tripping me until I walk her. It’s degrading. I can’t sit on the couch and watch TV without her brown eyes staring into my soul and asking me what productive things I’ve done with my post-grad days.
A couple of days ago she even pooped in a neighbor’s yard right in front of the neighbor so that I would have to deal with the dirty looks. I bagged the evidence and scolded Biscuit by saying “we don’t do this” but she acted all smug about it and I could sense her disregard for my words. She’s been back on the leash ever since.
But I’m not mad. Truth be told, she probably gets her independent, anti-authority nature from me. In the same way, I get my manipulative charm from her. I look into Biscuit’s eyes and I see a less-hairy version of myself (yes, I said that correctly).
We love each other, and we’re well-loved by the people of Kennedale. Kids I sub for tell me they see us walking on their way home from school, and I even caught one kid snapping a picture of us. Biscuit and I are living the lives of local celebrities, having to keep watch for paparazzi every time we go out.
I don’t blame anyone for being fans of us. Look at the two of us: We’re carefree and living life on a daily basis. We are totally at peace with the world as long as dogs don’t escape their backyards. We appreciate our quiet hour of companionship, and we don’t get stressed out about where we’re headed, as long as we’re together.
Walking with Biscuit without a leash was supposed to be my greatest accomplishment since graduating, but I’m not too beat up about it failing. I may have her on a leash, but she has my heart. Haters gonna hate, and dogs gonna bark, but don’t act like you don’t love us when you see us walking in the park.