Bringing Up The Rear

The ass is where it's at.

I set my sights on the glowing golden buttocks as they swoop and sway down the road in front of me. Brazenly strutting her showgirl stuff with the confidence of a drum major, Gracie brings a smile to my ordinary day. She may be going nowhere in particular, but she'll have a good time getting there. The hostess with the mostess makes no discrimination and invites everyone to her party. Throwing Cesar Millan's pack-leading advice directly into the wind, I follow the dog.

I've often said that I'd like to have a room in Gracie's head. Sunny and spacious, complete with singing birds, I imagine it to be a place with no agendas, no malice and very few rules. Disagreeable feelings are easily pushed out the door by a biscuit or a butt massage; you're not even guaranteed that level of service in a five star hotel. Assuming that said room is perpetually sold out, I console myself by traveling in her good-natured wake.

Our road quietly cuts through the woods and offers little in the way of entertainment; traffic is light and we rarely encounter other pedestrians. When we do run into the occasional road crew, Gracie throws herself at the workers like a bubbly tween at a Jonas Brothers concert. Living in the moment leaves no room for the maintenance of decorum and "Her Heineyness" does not apologize for her enthusiasm. A master of the head butt and posterior press, she demands attention, preferably in the form of heavy petting. She rarely walks away empty-pawed.

While I may draw the line at rubbing up against strangers, I'd like to join in Grace's appreciation of the simplest of pleasures. Galumphing along with purpose and conviction, she always takes time to stop and smell the roses. Although her roses may come in the form of a dead squirrel, I remind myself to do the same.


"Dogs are the leaders of the planet. If you see two life forms, one of them's making a poop, the other one's carrying it for him, who would you assume is in charge?" - Jerry Seinfeld