THE DOG AND “ME”
My stepdaughter’s dog never stops watching me. If I didn’t love this dog, I could easily hate him; he sees right through all my bulls**t; my rationalizations and my pretensions, maybe that’s why his name is God spelled backward. He’s a living mirror that doesn’t reflect frills, fantasies, delusions, and illusions. His perceptions cut out my whole practiced concept of me and all the airy fairy construct of my importance in the world. If Albert Einstein, William Shakespeare, and all the Beatles were standing right before him he would just see them as fellow travelers in his biological world and a source of a loving touch and delicious food. Oh, God, I hate it when this dog makes me think. So, does all my mental constructs have any real value if the dog can see right through them? They maybe just a frill to facilitate a society where everyone can claim a greater meaning, beyond their simple biology, for existence and all this whoop-tee-do “Me” business is just so much smoke and farts.