“Writing is a dog’s life, but the only life worth living.” -Gustave Flaubert.
I don’t understand this quote.
I think a dog’s life would be grand.
I love dogs, but don’t have one right now. The last dog I had was named Tuppence.
As you probably know, it means a British two-pence coin. I gave her that name because once I was done paying for her, her shots, her food, her bowl, etc, I had about two pennies left to my name.
She was a Lhasa Apso and probably the dumbest animal ever to walk the plant. Seriously. She flunked Puppy Kindergarten.
Still, she was smart enough to live the good life while I was the one who toiled at a job.
So, with the above quote and thoughts of Tuppence in mind, I’d like to share my top reasons that it would be nice to live a dog’s life:
- Dogs sleep most of the day. As a child, I bulked at having to take naps. Now the thought is pretty dang appealing most hours of the day.
- Dogs don’t have to worry about skinny jeans and getting into them.
- Dogs seem to get more attention and compassion as they get older.
- Dogs don’t hold grudges. They daily master the art of “live, love, laugh.”
- Dogs are as excited by the prospect of a car ride as most children are to learn they’re going to Disney World.
- Dogs don’t have to ask forgiveness. Really, besides eating out of another animal’s bowl, what do they ever do that is wrong?
- Dogs don’t have to don things in the winter just to go to the mailbox: coat, scarf, hat, gloves, wool socks, boots.
- Dogs don’t get mail.
- Dogs have someone to clean up after them.
- Dogs never have to set an alarm, punch a timeclock, create a to-do list, or make a schedule.
So, if living a dog’s life is so good, then perhaps living a writer’s life is good too.
I think I’ll stick with it.