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No Respect

In their excitement, humans talk down to our aged canine as if he were a mere pup -- docile and helpless. Creak, as you may guess, is a bit miffed.

OK, I have to admit, if you fancy yourself an attention-seeker, the canine life is rather satisfying.

Whether strolling the neighborhood with my human pets, or lounging with my pals in the park (long gone are the days of running ... too rough on my osteoarthritis), I cannot stride ten feet without some stranger gushing, asking my humans if they can pet me -- as if my arthritis-free Two-Leggers had the power to make such a decision.

But I digress.

At every turn I have new folks turning their attention to me, fawning over my every need.

And that's when the gibberish starts.

"Oh, look-at-the-big-doggie!"

"Hello!  Hell-O!  You're such a good boy, aren't you?  Yes, you are!"

"Hi, Pookie!"


I cannot tell which is worse -- the puppyhood memories revived by such babytalk ("Oh ... my ... goodness, where-am-I-what's-happening-why-am-I-all-wet?!") ...

... or the feeling of self worth oozing out my paws.  ("Am I incompetent?  Am I visibly drooling?  Have I unknowingly fulfilled my lifelong fantasy of marking the human's mother-in-law's foul-smelling sofa?" ... Imagine one of those plug-in scent machines, a dryer sheet, and spicy pepper all rolled into one.  Yeah, you'd take a swipe at overwhelming that stench, too.)

It's enough to make a self-respecting dog let a frisbee go unretrieved.

Humans.  Please.

I know I'm a dog.  In my years, I have grasped this concept.

But I am not a human child.  I am not helpless.

Is it too much to ask that you not speak down to me as if I were?

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