Birthday

Today is my eighth birthday. I got an egg for breakfast.

I have no plans for self-improvement in the upcoming year. However, I do have some recommendations for the improvement of my care and feeding. Lately, despite Duncan's strange disappearance and my new status as only dog, I do not feel as spoiled as I need to feel. The recommendations follow:

More eggs
More walks
More treats
More and quicker responses to my demands
Fewer children playing at the school by our house. They are intruders in my territory.
A return of the security door on the front of our house. Now the mail carrier cannot reach through the door to give me a treat.
Better access to the contractors who are working on the bathroom. I need to get very close to them to see exactly what they are working on.
A return to composting and a companion who will tip the composter over.
The freedom to step on Mommy's tummy again.

As my fans will see, these are not new grievances. They represent a long train of abuses and usurpations pursuing invariably the same object, namely my health, happiness, security, and discipline. As my fans know, I, Poppy, do not care about health, happiness, security, and discipline. Instead, I care about instant gratification. And I have not suffered in patience. The course of canine events has, however, brought me to the beginning of my ninth year, and as a now older and more distinguished pug, I feel that it is my right and privilege to, again, voice my desire for greater spoilage.

The Unexamined Life

Socrates says that the unexamined life is not worth living.

I disagree.

I, Poppy, live a wholly unexamined life. I do not question who walks by the house and whether they are a threat. I do not question my reputation in the neighborhood as a barker. I do not question my parents' reputations as poor disciplinarians. I simply bark. I can because the humans I live with are omnipotent, with the powers of treats and leashes, thumbs, fences, doors, locks, and keys. When they walk into the room, the lights turn on! When they come home in the winter the heat goes up! I can bark at the passersby because these immortals are on my side. When the stranger comes to the door, I can always stand behind the person who comes to answer it.

Is this unexamined life not worth living? What is so bad about lying spread-eagle on the tile floor to stay cool in the summer? What is so bad about sitting at the door and sniffing the breeze? What is so wrong about licking the salt off of human legs? What is so wrong about sleeping in a sunbeam all day long? Are these activities worth nothing because I do not ask myself, "Poppy, are you righteous?"

Witness Roomba. He toils daily but does not complain. When he gets stuck under the sofa he waits quietly until freed. He does not wonder about his destiny or his free will. When he is tired he returns to his dock to recharge. He does not ask himself, "Roomba, are you righteous?"

What does Socrates know?