This is a word of praise for my sweet sweet pup, Margie.
Anthrax? Bombing? Rain? Religious Fervor? Racism? Hate? Danger? Fear? Anxiety? Cholesterol? Terror? Cancer? Death? Sadness? Suffering?
My pup Marge doesn’t care. She just wants to cuddle. She wants me to pet on her little fat belly and rub her floppy soft ears. Marge always wants to go outside and run around in the rain, trying to eat old Wendy’s bags and hunting kitties. She wants me to brush her and give her rawhide cheese chips or Kongs.
Marge likes to play tug with a couple of old socks tied in a knot. And she likes peanut butter and oranges and of course, pieces of chicken! When mr. jar and i have beer, she likes to have the last sip from the bottle, then she burps right in our faces.
When she wakes up in the morning she climbs up and kisses me right on the eyes as if to say “come on girl, let’s go do some stuff!” and then she jumps out of bed to go play with something or get her leash.
She’s always warm, she’s very fat. She loves to sit on our laps even though she weighs fifty pounds. When we’re sick, she always lays with us. When buildings blow up and the world is on fire, Margie climbs up and licks us on the face.
She lays on the floor on her side sometimes and holds her little snoot between her two front paws. Or she itches her big brown eyes and then licks her little toes clean.
She’s a very nice girl. I love her very much. When the news or the terror or the ‘warnings’ get to be too much, or when my inner voice takes over and scares me to death, or when I have panic attacks or am sad, I always have Marge, my li’l cheesepie, my sweetcake, my tiny jimmy smits.
Like Charlie Brown always says, “You have a dog, be happy”
Here is a picture of me and my dog. I always tell her, “you and me, we’re pals”
jarbaby
