Hmmology – episode 17: Everybody wants to be a… dog?

To get the full story, start with EPISODE 1

My true form. People – and, apparently, most other animals as well – talk a lot about things as if they knew what the hell they actually meant. In fact, what happens is that they’re stupid. Irredeemable so, most of them. Dumb parental fornicators, as they are known in more refined circles. Now, I still possess some dangling bits of decency, thus I shall take my rightful place in the above chastised group of cretins. But, now that I’ve admitted to and embraced my being an utter idiot, I feel I’ve earned the right to expand this topic a bit. Thusly ends my full disclaimer.

jump, Forest, jump!
Source: jenharms11

So, my true form, eh? I couldn’t help noticing – to my increasing discomfort – how naturally being a dog came to me. Perhaps this says something about the proximity we still exhibit to our fellow mammals, despite the superficial sheen of civility and sophistication our kind is telling itself it has reached. Mayhap, the lyrics of the bard spoke a deep and unexpected truth when they declaimed the notion that you and your partner were nothing but mammals. Or maybe it was something about the empowerment of not having to wear pants everywhere without feeling guilty. For me, it was not having to wash my hair that made it all seem right.

Brush attack
Source: Shena Tschofen

Also, it just so happened that even though I haven’t actually done anything remotely heroic or grand since my inhabiting the canine form, my time spent as ‘the dog that stood still… except for that time it hustled’ still felt more rewarding than most of my years as a painfully unremarkable human with a pompous name. Truth be told, that might also be because of the significantly lower standards dogs are subjected to. I mean, I wasn’t licking my balls, so I was practically regal by canine standards. Well, I mean, not all the time. OK, no more than twice a day… and only after I made sure nobody was watching. What I’m trying to say is that it felt good to be a civil dog.  For the first time in many years, I felt good in my own skin… and it wasn’t even mine!

Or was it? Was it possible – I began pondering – to have someone borrow so much that they forgot their true identity? They find a form, a life that suits them just fine and then they just block everything up to that point out. Could it be that my dad was actually an oyster that fell in love with maroon ties, and possibly my mum, and never looked back? He certainly had all the joie de vivre of a creature that is basically a living, breathing ready-meal.

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