No cogent reason for re-posting this. But it’s got, I think, some funny musings and seemed to fall through the cracks. And it has nothing to do with the Super Bowl so it for now is perfect.
I sometimes find myself staring at the dog and wondering how I’d lok with his nose and how he’d look with mine. And I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
I doubt it. I think when he looks at me he’s wondering when I’m going to eat again.
He’s a very small dog, a yipper. I guess his brain’s about the size of a walnut. I think he devotes all his minuscule brain power to thoughts of obtaining and consuming food.
I’m surprised dogs like him don’t try and leap through the TV whenever they see commercials for things like Hot Pockets.
One of the things I most admire about dogs is they’d never pause to read a nutrition label. They just eat what they enjoy until what they enjoy is all gone.
Yet, dogs have what must be an instinctive dislike for anything we’re told is healthy. I’ve never once seen my dog slobber over a salad.
If dogs were smart, they’d spend less time wishing for food and more time wishing for opposable thumbs that would allow them to pull open the refrigerator door. It’s like the Biblical parable about giving a man a fish or teaching him how to catch them.
I know a lot of humans who’d look more interesting with the noses of their dogs, me included.
A nose, even a properly functioning one, is a terrible facial focal point. If eyes are the windows to the soul then noses are the chimneys to the respiratory system. Nothing good comes out of them.
I’ve always thought it would be cool if what you sneezed revealed your personality. Cheerful people would sneeze confetti; sweet people, jellybeans; politicians, bull crap.
I once read that the size of our eyes is the same when we’re born as when we die.
That’s probably for the best. I’m trying to picture my 82-year-old mother with saucer-sized eyeballs. It’d be very unnerving, like she could instantly tell when I’m lying to her about how delighted I am she lives nearer to me instead of my deadbeat brother in Tennessee.
That same article about the consistent eyeball size said human noses and ears grow a little bit each and every day.
On days when I have very little to do I spend hours staring straight into the mirror intently trying to detect some growth. I can’t see it, but old pictures from around high school prove growth is, indeed, happening.
My butt’s getting bigger, too.
I’ve read we’re on the verge of physiological changes that will allow the average human to live to extraordinary ages, like 200 years.
That sounds great until you think about relentless ear and nasal growth.
Standard elevators will only have room for two or three old timers. Everyone else will either have to take the stairs or ride a few floors huddled beneath a nostril.
I’ve always been baffled by the way ears look. Why we need all that superfluous gutter cartilage around the little ear hear hole is a mystery.
I wish I could evolve dog ears, little mud flaps that would hang over the actual ear.
Like a beagle’s!
Many people say, ah, but having a furry flap over your ears would impede hearing.
To which I respond, ah, but having a furry flap over my ears would impede hearing!
Have you heard what’s being said or sung?
The only reason I don’t walk through life with my fingers jammed in my ears is because I’m either carrying something or my hands are up in the “Don’t shoot!” position necessary for surviving today’s society.
Think of the splendor if you could walk around with thick mufflers dangling over your ears. You’d wouldn’t hear stupid political opinions, unwanted sports discussions or disagreeable music.
If you wished to engage in conversation with someone intelligent, you could fasten the ears above your head with a little clip, something fashionable.
So that’s some of what I think about when I’m staring at the dog and he’s staring back at me.
What he’s actually thinking we’ll never know.
Like I said, he’s probably thinking about food.
I just hope he’s not thinking vengeful thoughts against me because a few years ago I approved the surgery that severed maybe the one thing dearer to typical male dogs than food.
I guess it’s something to think about.
Related . . .