ASSIGNMENT NUMBER THREE
Another triggering subject. Remember my friend who was giving me writing assignments? The last assignment, number three, was something I didn’t want to write about. I put it off for weeks. When I finally wrote something, a month or so ago, I wrote something silly. Sometimes metaphor lets us go to a place we don’t want to go, just as writing in the third person can also give us distance from the difficult or the scary or being vulnerable. Today I revised my silly piece of writing (I couldn’t have done this on a Friday) and share it here with you. And, yes, my friends, I am often guilty of not picking up the phone and calling you on a Friday night when you may be just as lonely as I am. Enjoy. And send me your creative response to assignment number three.
Assignment #3: lonely
Do dogs piss in the rain? I don’t know. I don’t own a dog. Never had. Never will. But maybe he is the answer. Bill. Bill the dog. Maybe just Dog.
Previous lovers owned dogs. One. Two. Three. Four. . . .
The way you treat your dog says something about you. I have seen abuse. Big men barking at small dogs. Small women barking at large dogs. I have seen entire people meals-bacon, eggs, hash browns, pork roast and squash-fed to small dogs. I’ve seen nothing but dry dog food fed to large dogs. I’ve seen dogs choked by chains, dogs free to run and growl and even bite. Dogs with too much freedom. Dogs with no freedom. Dogs hanging out of pick up truck windows. Dogs hanging out of convertibles. They look happy. Dogs barely able to yelp, unable to go up steps, unable to retrieve pheasants or chase the chipmunk in the back yard.
The thing about dogs, they are not their own dog. Ownership. Dogs are bought and sold or given away.
A dog may be the answer to yet another Friday night alone, no date, no family, no friends available to play cribbage, or Scrabble, or five card stud.
I could choose a foo foo dog. A terrier. A chihuahua. A dachshund. I could choose a gordon setter, Alaskan husky, a German shepherd. I could choose a mutt.
A dog may keep me company on a Friday night. But I can’t take a dog to dinner, out for a burger and fries. I can’t take a dog to the movies. I can’t take a dog bowling. I can’t take a dog dancing. And even if I could, what would it cost? Hair cuts. Pedicures. Health insurance. Picking up poo poo.
I don’t want a dog. Maybe I’m selfish. Maybe there are dogs just waiting to spend a Friday night with me. Maybe there are dogs that don’t want a woman. Don’t want to be taken care of (or to take care of anyone). Don’t want to be cuddled or hear how much they are loved. Maybe there are dogs who are selfish.
Dogs piss in the snow. We know that in Minnesota. When it’s cold they have to go out to relieve themselves. I don’t have to go out at all. On a Friday night I can cover myself with warm comforters, lie on top of flannel sheets, read a book or watch a movie and be glad it’s Friday night and the phone doesn’t ring and I don’t have to go anyplace or do anything or be with anybody. I don’t even have to go out and shovel because I live in a condo and pay for snow plowing.
By the way, I am allergic to dogs. And, Friday’s are only one out of seven days of any week. The rest of the week, loneliness is bearable.
Revised
November 14, 2010
