The author and his mother

Some of you may have wondered where I’ve been the past several weeks and why I’ve not updated this site with any new posts.  Well, I’ve been in a bit of a state the past few weeks.  Why?  Because I discovered a secret about my origins, a secret about who I am.   

I found out that I am adopted.  Thousands of children are adopted each year.  Adoption is a blessing for all involved.  But to the adopted one, finding out that you don’t share DNA or the biological bond with your parents can be shocking news.  I guess in a way I wasn’t so much shocked, as to say I was disappointed to find out I was adopted. Deep down, I’d always suspected it, though I never really wanted it to be true.

The first hint was that I didn’t really look so much like my parents.  But I figured that was just how the genetic lottery works.  I mean, I DO resemble my mom in many ways – – we both have naturally curly hair, terrible breath in the morning, and like being outside. We’re both very fond of sleep and get cranky when we haven’t gotten enough of it. We both enjoy a good steak, a nice piece of cheese, or a peanut butter sandwich.  But apparently those commonalities were just happenstance. 

A couple weeks ago, sensing that I was old enough and mature enough to handle the news, my mom broke the news to me that she didn’t give birth to me.  She reassured me that even though we didn’t share a biological bond, she loved me as if I’d been her own.  And in looking back, while I was confused and upset, I realized that my mom was right. She always loved me as much as any mother could love a child. Biology didn’t matter.  We were family. By choice.

The author in his human-imposed costume

So I have decided that while I adore my human family, they have a very strange, and sometimes unpleasant,  sense of humor.  Case in point – – see the images accompanying this post.  My mom thought it would be “hilarious” to put a costume on me, in celebration of the human holiday Halloween.  Thanks, mom.

In addition to it being uncomfortable, it was difficult to walk in, and made me look ridiculous.  And let’s face it, no one is confusing me with Batman.  I’m a dog.  I’m neither a bat nor a man.  Enough said.

counter-surfing

This morning I was thinking about all the variety of foods that humans have available to them, and then thought of how paltry the “dog food” aisle is in most grocery or pet stores.  I mean, humans don’t have to eat the same thing every day (though some of the obsessed or neurotic amongst them DO, but that’s a choice), so why should a dog?! 

Our palates are just as sophisticated as humans.  Putting aside the fact that we sniff other dogs’ butts, and sometimes eat random things off the sidewalk, we are gourmets with complex palates.  We are omnivores.  We are meant to eat everything!!  Why do you think some of my less couth brethren occasionally eat excrement?  It’s purely out of boredom and frustration with our otherwise bland diet.

So this morning, when I finally emerged from a restful slumber and ambled down the stairs to the kitchen, I saw various family members eating breakfast.  Daniel and Bailey were eating waffles.  Jordyn was eating rice crispies.  I sniffed the fragrant air.  I love waffles!  I love rice crispies!  Yet, did I have a place at the table like the others? Did anyone ask me what I wanted for breakfast?  No.  It’s just assumed that because I’m a dog, I eat dog food out of a bowl that rarely gets washed.  Come on, people!!!  It’s just so wrong.  How can you eat a variety of foods in front of us and expect us to ignore it?!

For me, I’ve mastered the art of manipulation and have been able to get my way often enough that dog food is merely a “supplement” to my diet.  I’ll let you in on my secret.  I first rest my head on someone’s knee; then I make chomping noises with my mouth to let them know that it’s not affection I’m seeking, but rather, it’s food.  Finally, I sit up on my hind legs and bark.  Works like a charm every time.

Ahhh….snap, crackle, pop…..how I love thee!!

Sometimes I think my mom is far too into my appearance.   I’m cute.  Let’s face it.  It’s undeniable.  Cute is what I do.  It’s who I am. Some would say it’s in my DNA.  Everyone at the Starbucks, at parks, etc. tells me mom how cute I am.  And she beams with pride.  And my mom tells me constantly how cute I am.  

But sometimes my mom’s desire for me to maintain the cute drives me crazy.  This morning, for example.

We were on our regular morning walk.  Mom was a little slower than usual (perhaps as a result of not enough sleep….but I digress).  We were walking around the neighborhood and I was busy sniffing at plants, chewing the leaves (they are an excellent source of fiber, folic acid, and vitamin B).  I was doing the stuff all dogs do.  My nose caught wind of a particularly odorific leaf and I moved in to get a better sniff.  In the course of doing this, I ended up with a LOT of tiny bramble-y burr things all over my head.  COOL!!!  Suddenly I looked tough!  I felt macho.  No Doberman or Rottie would mess with me and all the ladies would swoon. 

I don’t mind being cute, but do you realize how hard it is to be “cute” when you’re a guy?!  Have you seen me?  There are Muppets who strike more fear into people’s hearts than I do.  Being cute is a curse when you’re a male dog. Consequently, I loved the way the bramble-y burr things looked on me.  I looked tough. I had street cred. And most importantly, I wasn’t cute.

But my newfound confidence and persona were short-lived.  As soon as we got back from the walk, my mom whipped out the brush and meticulously removed every last one of those bramble-y burr things.  She combed through my hair to find even the tiniest ones that had embedded themselves in my ears.  Just as quickly as I’d gotten my street cred, my mom took it away.   

*Sigh*

I guess I’ll go back to being cute.

If someone from another planet were to watch Earth from the outside, they would easily get the impression that we canines ran things.  Think about it.  I have no job. I sleep most of the day. I am unnaturally good looking despite no effort on my own part. And every time I take a crap, my mom is there behind me to pick it up.  Heck, when SHE can’t be home to do it, she pays someone else to pick up my crap.  Dogs clearly rule.

And anyone who thinks cats are equally as awesome……let me disabuse you of this silly notion.  Think about this: Have you ever heard the expression “It’s a cat’s life.” 

Nope. 

Have you ever heard anyone say “But my dog is GREAT!  He’s just like a cat!” 

Nuh-uh. 

And has anyone ever referred to a cat as “man’s best friend.” 

Negative.  

That’s because dogs are better.  My humblest apologies to all you cats out there, but face it; you just don’t quite measure up to dogs.  We rule.

My name is Marley.   I am a Portuguese Water Dog.  This is my first attempt at creating a website (which is difficult without opposable thumbs).