Why We Suck_ A Feel Good Guide to Staying Fat, Loud, Lazy and Stupid - Denis Leary [66]
Cats do not care who the owner of the house they live in might be, since they don't consider themselves pets. They are cunning and incomparable killing machines who spend all day long preening and fussing and staring at birds.
A dog only knows one owner-you. You are his favorite person or thing on this planet. When you come home the sun shines eternally in his dancing doggy eyeballs. Unlike mere mortal and judgmental human beings, your dog loves you no matter what. How you look, how you smell, sober or clean, sane or crazed, naked or clothed-you are his one and only best friend. You could stumble through the front door bleeding and bound and your dog would help unwrap the ropes and then begin licking your wounds.
You could chop up the asshole next-door neighbor you've been secretly planning to kill-suddenly snap and head over to his house with just a wood ax and twelve years of angst popping out of your carotid artery and all your darling buddy pooch would do is sniff and follow along nipping at your heels, as if to say "We gonna kill that guy now? Hah? Can I help? Hah? We gonna bury the body afterward? Hah? I love you, man."
You can saunter into the house covered in horseshit-which I have actually done, living almost full-time on a horse farm-and the stench emanating from your boots and pants and pores is an absolute buffet for your dog. He can't get enough of you-nuzzling your trousers, licking your face, lingering his nostrils around the nape of your neck-goddammit do you smell good to him. Horseshit is like the finest French perfume for a dog. As is almost any foul, rank, dire, vile or invasive scent you could possibly emit.
As a matter of fact, if there was a Calvin Klein in the canine universe, the carefully designed fragrances he would offer up could include Horseshit, Pit Stink, Damp Towel Rot, Pizza Breath, Ear Aroma, Cheese Foot, Yoga Crack, Just Arrived Home Vagina, Post-Tennis Tea Bag, Crusty Sock, Dried Up Scab, Under Tit Sweat, Nipple Fluff, Ass Lint-the list would be almost endless. Such is the devotion of the dog to all elements of your very being.
(Yoga Crack is another good name for a band, by the way.)
Can you imagine any lover on earth who would say "Go jump in that pile of batshit, then roll around in that muddy field for a while, piss your own pants, puke and then please oh please rush right over here and give me a big long happy hug and a kiss-please?"
You'd have to pay a hooker an extra twenty grand for that. Maybe more.
Just ask Eliot Spitzer. He probably knows.
Which reminds me-just one day after the world burst open with the wicked news of his decade-long, under the radar, sick and expensive liaisons with online ladies of the night-after everyone from Letterman to Leno to the scions of the Catholic Church and Hebrew heads of scholarly study had chastized him in disgust and disbelief-when all of his trusted aides had fallen by the wayside with nasty asides and angry bromides-when even his wife had given up being photographed in the ex-gov's disgraced presence-the paparazzi caught him out for a leisurely walk along Park Avenue with his one and only remaining confidant-his dog.
His dog could care less who he hired to fuck or how he fucked them or where or when or how often. If the dog had been along for the trysts he would have happily sat in the corner of whichever five-star hotel suite whiffing sexy whiffs and playing One Dog Toss with a hooker's bra or Chew Through The Crotch with her discarded panties or seeing how fast he could munch a bunch of sixty-five-dollar-apiece Oreos out of the minibar cabinet.
Dogs don't care if you are a hooker or a hater or even Adolf Hitler-it's all about how you feel to them when they first meet you.
It's not a dog-eat-dog world. It's a dog-eat-cat world.
Why?
Because dogs can't stand cats. And if you have ever known and loved a dog-think about it:
If a loving, caring creature who trusts you with his life doesn't care for someone-don't you get suspicious? Some visitor or friend of a friend who approaches the dog or