9780008390662

mr. oog
Here’s how I figure puppy eyes got their start.
Cave humans were sitting around a fire, wearing mammoth fur and grunting
about how there was nothing on TV because TV hadn’t been invented yet,
and some wily wolf thought, Whoa, they’ve got leftover mammoth meat!
And he probably whimpered and cowered and did a tummy display and
looked pathetic enough that Mr. Oog finally tossed him a bone. And soon
enough, a few zillion years later: voilà! Man’s best friend.
After all that time, there’s a thing, like a magnetic attraction, between dogs
and humans. We’ve studied them for so long we can read every twitch and
sigh.
S’pose it was easier than chasing down mammoths.
And I get it. I do.
The behind-the-ear scratch. The food in a fancy bowl. The bed by the
fireplace.
Gotta admit that Julia’s pretty fun to hang out with. And I’m grateful, really I
am, that her family took me in.
Still, I don’t need them.
You need someone, eventually they let you down and you end up feeling like
a real doofus.