Sugar Needs a Job

Are you hiring, dear reader? Do you know anyone who's hiring? Will you put in a good word for Sugar? Here are her qualifications: She's very small and can worm her way into tight spots (holes in basements, for example); her nose is flawless (she can smell a sardine at ten paces, or a rat or raccoon trapped under your eaves); she's swift as wind (eludes my grasp at bedtime so fast that we now call her La Loca) and could return tools quickly, albeit in a damp state. The more I write about her qualifications the more I feel Sugar would be at home in a carpentry or at the side of a handyman. Treats required, but no lunch hour needed. Two seconds will do. She works cheap -- for food and the occasional pat on the head, if you can catch her.

I suppose that what I'm saying (apart from soliciting a job for Sugar) is that all sentient beings need to work and be rewarded. I don't consider that digging up the kitchen garden before breakfast and hoarding the wood chips in her bed constitute work, or a job. But digging is something that dogs do, and do well. However, this is a counter-intuitive occupation for a house pet. If only I could get her to plant things instead of rooting them up. But then, animals do not make order. They don't make the kind of order that people need to sustain a life with house pets. Which makes having house pets a luxury. And it is a luxury. Perhaps that's why the Egyptian princes and princesses so loved their cats: the cats were a symbol of abundance (they also took care of the mice).

Pets are always underfoot. It's annoying. They constantly wheedle you for affection. Unless, that is, you're in the mood for a little furry cuddle, in which case they run away and hide under the couch where you can't reach them. Such is the nature of fancy house pets. Such is the nature of pure bred Poodles. Maybe mutts are less standoffish, but I'll not give that a try till either Sugar or I meet the Grim Reaper, whoever goes first. If you're wondering why, then, I have a Sugar, you're right to wonder. I wonder myself.

I think that looking after Sugar is part of my job as an affluent Human. She's a dog, she exists, five million dogs a year are destroyed in this country, so there you have it. One dog is safe in our house. Why the fancy shmancy dog, you ask? Good question. Well, she's smart. Humans often like a challenge. She challenges me with her slight willfulness, her independence of spirit. I like that in animals and people. I like the little pads of her paws, like to massage them when she lets me. Those little pads make me aware of differences between humans and quadripeds, the vulnerability of their little feet. We are all so vulnerable in so many ways.

But let's stop being sentimental for a moment. Each of us needs a reason to get up in the morning (besides breakfast), and Sugar's no different. She doesn't get up because she knows she'll get a paw massage or leftover sweet potato fries. She needs to work, to contribute something. She's too smart to loll around. Warning to all potential puppy purchasers: think about getting a dumb dog. Therefore, if you, our readers, do not come up with appropriate employment for a white toy Poodle pup, I might have to eventually take the step of turning her into a working dog. Agility training perhaps, for shows. Or training as a therapy dog, which I mention in every post, but hope to be talked out of because Sugar's no angel of mercy. So think carpenter's apprentice, and feel free to write in with suggestions.