A dog’s life considered

The dog — the new dog, the one who came into the house to fill the largest void a dog ever left and I know that’s too much to ask of one dog — is curled by my side. I think her eyes are open, so she’s not sleeping, so she’s thinking. What does a dog think about?

Sometimes I think if given a voice, she would disappoint us with an adolescent “I’m BORED. There’s nothing to DO here.” But perhaps she contemplates this life, where her every movement is subject to someone else’s will. If she needs to relieve herself, for cryin’ out loud, she needs to get someone’s attention to open the door, and then it’s either a fenced-in yard or a leash. 

Sometimes when she barks and barks to get her adoptive sister’s attention and start a game, she gets a timeout because the doorkeepers don’t like the noise. And then they may leave for hours, sometimes for an entire dog day, leaving her and her sister with nothing to do except sleep, drink water, harass the cat and perhaps chew on something, perhaps something she’s not supposed to chew.

Do the doorkeepers know her life is short and wasted days can never be recaptured?

Oh, they know.

They know all too well.

But what can they do?

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