I’m not a parent, but from what I’ve heard it’s quite a competitive thing. I hear
bitching stories of mothers trying to out-do each other with claims of genius, derived purely from the fact their kid managed to put paint on paper and not in their mouth.
From the moment we picked up The Dog from the rescue shelter, we knew from the battle that he was picking in the pen he shared with a ridgeback four times his size that good instincts, sense or behaviour was not on the cards. And we accepted that. So what if he never saved some kid called Timmy from a fucking well? Who gives a shit? Kids who go jumping in wells are Darwin Award candidates anyway. So, with The Dog we kept our expectations low. Like, “just don’t bite anyone” kind of low.
After four and a half years (and no bites) The Dog and I have a solid relationship. Better than some of my human ones, mostly on account of that fact that he can’t a) tell me what a mean bitch I am or b) escape. He’s an excellent companion (when he hasn’t run the length of a field to greet something else with four legs) and we walk about four miles every morning in the fields getting the farm smells up our nostrils before work.
We amble in silence while he sniffs everything, pisses a lot and occasionally curls one out. While I wait for him it gives me time to think. Like yesterday. I wondered whether I could use the running app on my phone to become a human etch-a-sketch.
So we found a nice big field to try it out. Turns out, I can.
Then I got thinking some more. I wondered, after all this time of howling, crying, pawing and barking at me, that given the right tool and enough space, would The Dog be able to write me a word of thanks? So I strapped his saddlebags on him, started up the app, wrapped it in something waterproof and set him free.
Yep, the little furry genius did a self portrait.
And that’s why my dog is more talented than yours.