A Failure to Communicate

By Maxx Danielson, Guest Blogger

Maxx here, and I’m hoppin’ mad! Dad’s on a trip, so I’m taking this opportunity to vent. While he was out on his last trip, Mom took me in for a “haircut” and I came out looking like a Poodle, not a Bichon! I mean, seriously – check out the photo below. Don’t I look like I just won the Biggest Loser – pet edition? I've been crying ever since! I mean, who wouldn't? The photo above was taken a month ago, and no, I didn't go on a diet. So how did my parents get stuck with a bill while I got so short-changed? What did I do to deserve this? Nothin, I tell ya. Nothin!

It just goes to show that no matter what I say or how I say it, no one listens. Sure, I’m young, but I still have plenty to say. I see the world, too, ya know. The only difference is I see it from a few inches off the ground while you see it from several feet. Now, think about that for a moment. I get to smell all the scents, and that makes me a lot more perceptive. I’m also at eye level with nearly every insect. If a leaf moves, I see it. When a rock is kicked, I chase it. If a Harley’s approaching, I hear it long before anyone else does. The same holds true for sirens. So the way I see it, I’m the perceptive one. So why not listen to me, for crying out loud?

My folks are always trying to get me to do things, but they don’t seem to understand that I’m my own person – or dog, as it were. Just because they feed me, love me, and provide me with a nice home, am I supposed to be at their beck and call 24/7? Do you think I have any say in what’s on TV or the stereo? Do I get to pick out my own collar? Nope – none of the above. It’s as though I’m their little play toy; and this, my friends, makes me madder than being shaved. Hmmm. No. Actually, being shaved still takes the treat.

My parents assure me that the next time I visit the salon, they will specify exactly what needs to be done. Yeah, right. I’ll believe that when I see it. The only reason I even go to that salon is because my girlfriend works there. She’s a month younger than me, and boy to we have fun chasing each other around! Mom thinks she may be my half-sister, but I refuse to believe that. You see, sometimes there’s such a thing as too much information, and this revelation fits that category.

I guess I have to realize that communicating is a skill; not something we’re born with. It takes practice to make sure we get it right, whether it be in conversation or the written word. As for me, I’ll continue to voice my opinion, and I'm certain that sooner or later, my folks will understand me. I just have to work on them a bit longer, just like Cool Hand Luke. Some day, I’m certain I’ll get my point across.