Roxy reminds me that she is not a pet. Quite indignantly, in her usual throaty growl, she huffs, "I am a DOG." Her view on the matter is that pets are soft-in-the-middle, fufu house guests. Dogs are unattached, uninvolved, and independent.
She points out that it was my choice - definitely - not - hers! - to disrupt her life - and bring her into mine. She, after all, was minding her own business, nustling through the cedar chips with her new-found friend Lucy, until I came along.
"Well, excuse me," she huffs once more for emphasis. "I never, not once, ever pretended to be all soft, cuddly, and puppified. It was you - you - who projected your fancy, high-faluttin, suburbanated notions of what a puppy should be - onto me!"
She, of course, is right. As usual. To say that Roxy is of her own mind is an understatement. Roxy has no interest in pleasing me - or anyone else - animal or person. That is - unless she wants to. Until Roxy makes up her mind to do something, you will never ever convince, persuade, or cajole her otherwise.
Get off the couch? "For-ged-aboud-it." Play with the other dogs? "Screwyou." Stop barking? "Grrrrrraarrragh!"
But, when she wants something -- really, really wants something -- she couldn't be sweeter. "Rollover, you say? Tumble aside Mary Lou! You want soft and cuddly? Check out my belly. Go ahead, give me rub. Pat my head. C'mon. C'mon. I can do soft and cuddly!"
Roxy reminds me that just because she can't talk, doesn't mean she can't communicate. As a result, she has bestowed unto me that rare gift of a new perspective. Because of her, I see things differently now. Not as they are, but as they should be. Like it or not Roxy, I appreciate that.
(You can see more pictures of Roxy -- and her friends -- over here.)
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