Thursday, May 20, 2010

Sylvia Enjoys Be Kind To Your Animals Week

By Anne Sullivan

Did you know that this is Be Kind To Your Animals Week?” Sylvia remarked one morning after we’d had breakfast.
“Really?” I said from my comfortable chair. “I don’t remember hearing anything about that.”
“Oh, yes,” said Sylvia. “It’s right here in Sunday’s paper.” With the speed of lightning, she flashed the Albuquerque Journal in front of my face.
“I don’t see it,” I said. “Show me where.”
“Right here.” She pointed to the bottom of the front page before whisking the paper away again.
“I still don’t see it.”
“You still don’t see it? You really ought to get your eyes examined. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
“I doubt that.”
Sylvia shook her head. “You need glasses for sure.”
“I just bought a pair at Wal-Mart. They cost $17.”
Sylvia pointed out the obvious. “But what good are they if you don’t wear them.”
“They make me dizzy.”
“They don’t have far to go to do that.”
“It’s going to be difficult to be kind to you if you continue talking like that. Why don’t you lie down and be quiet.”
Sylvia took the hint, waddled to her bed under the TV, turned around the requisite three times and plopped down.
All was quiet and I read the paper undisturbed for all of four minutes before her paw rose and she spoke, “In case you were wondering how to be kind to me, might I take the liberty of offering a few suggestions.”
I glowered at her over my paper.
Undaunted, she rambled on, “First, and perhaps foremost, food is always the way to my heart. A direct route, in fact. Doggy biscuits – you know the kind I like – and pigs’ ears. A combination of the two would be excellent.”
“Hmmn,” I mumbled.
Seeing as a treat wasn’t immediately forthcoming, Sylvia swiftly switched tactics saying, “Be Kind To Your Animals week is the perfect time to develop close bonds with your adorable animal.”
I looked over my paper to say, “I draw the line at sleeping with you, adorable as you might be.”
“That’s a real shame. I’m sorry you’re so short-sighted. Pray, why are you feeling so negative about this form of togetherness?”
“Because you snore and you smell.”
“You snore, too.”
“True, but at least I bathe, something that you’re constituently opposed to.”
“It’s too cold to bathe.”
“It is now. But not in June or July. You nearly killed me trying to get away the last time I soaped you down in the summer. You were more than uncooperative. I would say you burst the bounds of objection.”
Sylvia was silent for a few minutes during which I hoped she wasn’t going to cry. Then she surprised me by jumping out of her bed and coming over to my chair, tail wagging like mad. “That settles it,” she said. “If you want to go for togetherness to show your devotion, it will have to be by treats. I’ll take the biscuits first as an appetizer,” she said, hustling me out of my chair and over to the kitchen.
As I took an Iams biscuit out of the box, I had a funny feeling that I’d been conned.

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