Entering into the exhilarating world of commerce and confronting the lofty aspirations and tenacious ambitions of my fellow toilers in the sandbox of big business, it seemed to me the best course of action would be to obtain a dog.  The world of fast food is one of precision and detail, and after long days of filling special orders, I need the calming devotion of a canine companion to soothe my sawtooth nerves upon returning to the peace of my den.


I entertained the idea with my usual approach of common sense and intelligence, and when the dog of an acquaintance of my niece’s neighbor produced a litter of puppies of some uncertain lineage, I agreed to take one home.  They assured me the mother was a purebred Dachshund.  After much research, during which I studied the animal intently from both sides, left and right rather than in and out, I could only suppose that the father was Daffy Duck.


In retrospect, I can see that there are some few avenues I left unexplored at the time of implementation of my plan.  For instance the inside and outside of the animal came to have much more significance than I had supposed.  If, in the future, I plunge once more into the pool of unrestrained companionship, several items seem worthy of consideration.  Hereto are recommended considerations when getting a dog:


Bladder size.  Since my canine knowledge is on par with my knowledge of the mating habits of Rhesus monkeys, I was sadly uniformed when it came to the personal habits of smaller dogs.  Indeed, the idea that a bladder could morph in size, growing larger on rainy days to provide relief from having to risk soiling dainty paws in muddy puddles is as bizarre to me as the invention of the self-flushing toddler.


Lineage.  The charming doe-eyed companion I took home changed personalities immediately upon entering the domain which was previously my own, if somewhat disheveled, monarchy.  She sniffed once in a condescending manner at the small pillow I adopted for a puppy bed, rolled her eyes, and settled in on my great-grandmother Polly’s goosedown comforter to order room service.  Had I known than I had adopted, not a dog, but the long-lost princess Anastasia, I would have prepared more carefully for her arrival.  Certainly embroidering the pillow with her family crest would not be out of order.


Employment.  It occurs to me now that if I could obtain a canine companion on the order of one of Disney’s Dalmations (Mr. Disney arguably has enough spots to share), or perhaps Cujo, who is, even now, wolfing down royalties for Mr. King, my fry-bagging days would be over, and we would be happily rolling in piles for the rest of our days.


In the meantime, I’ll make the best of the situation.  Since the lady sleeps quite peacefully for entire days at a time, she’ll do quite well as a doorstop.