My Life As A Dog

I have been recovering from surgery, which for me means vegging out in front of the TV for most of the day. Yesterday, as I looked around my surroundings, I realized I may have turned into a dog. There I sat on the couch, hanging with my three dogs. They were all asleep, which is apparently what they do when not eating, pooping or barking. I resist sleep (even though my pain meds currently make me groggy), but there were still other similarities. While I have yet to yell and make a lot of noise when the mailman comes around, I did perk up when a fire engine and aid car pulled up in front of my house. I went all Gladys Kravitz and was glued to my window. I called my daughter to give her a report on what was happening (actually, nothing was happening). The EMTs went into an elderly neighbor’s house for about fifteen minutes, came out and left. Not too exciting, but still... It was a break from the endless TV commercials for catheters, weight-loss programs, security systems, and countless drugs for scary-sounding diseases. Good thing I’m not a hypochondriac, or I would be concerned about being stranded on the floor, too fat to move, while some weird flesh-eating disease consumes me. I’ll bet my dogs never have such thoughts. So, what do they dream about? Lucy probably dreams about being left alone to chill with her bad self. Cosmo surely dreams about food. Stella no doubt drags even more stray items into her lair under the dining room table. I guess I’m not so much like a dog after all. Gotta go... I suddenly have this urge to drag dirty clothes up from the laundry room and deposit them by the front door.