Sammy is Fast

From the perspective of my dog:

"Oh I'm a fast dog. I'm fast-fast. It's true and I love being fast I admit it I love it. You know fast dogs. Dogs that just run by and you say, "Damn! That's a fast dog!" Well that's me. A fast dog. Hoooooooo! I'm a fast dog. Hooooooooooooo! You should watch me sometime. Just watch how fast I go when I'm going my fastest, when I've really got to move for something, when I'm really on my way - man do I get going sometimes, weaving like a missile, weaving like a missile between trees and around bushes and then - pop! - I can go over a fence or a baby or a rock or anything because I'm a fast fast dog and I can jump like a fucking gazelle." from After I Was Thrown in the River and Before I Drowned by Dave Egger's

Man oh man, when I read that, while sitting inside on a rainy day waiting for Pau (the guy who walks and feeds me (a good looking debonair type chap by the way)) to get home from wherever the hell it is he goes, I thought to myself, "Who is this Egger's fellow? And why the hell is he spying on me?" He was so dead on. About me, I mean. What he forgot to mention was my strength. I'm strong strong. I have cheetah like speed, gazelle like grace, and bull like strength. Hell, I could put those Pamplona chumps to shame. I mean I wouldn't gore anybody; I'd just weave in and out of the crowd and leave those sad sappy suckers in the dust! ‘Cause that's what I do. I can swim too. I invented the dog paddle. Me. And I'm fast at that too. I fast at everything. I'm so fast I don't need to use the verb am, ‘cause it just slows me down. It should be illegal. But until they post speed limit signs on grass and in the forest, I'm gonna keep on truckin' and keep on haulin' ass! Some people would say that it's crazy to run so fast. But I don't care. My name is Sammy the Bull and I'll do whatever the hell I want.

And now since dogs can’t talk:

It’s been awhile since Sammy and I have gone on a trip around the block. Lately, he’s been neglected in favor of the Bean. He’s a good dog, though, and is content to play a little fetch in the backyard. But, I owe him more than that. I owe him a walk around the block. It’d be like old times. I’m sure he would appreciate it. I know that my growing tummy would. What I need to do is set a schedule. I’ve never been good at things like that, but now, with all my newfound responsibilities, would be a great time to start. I’ve found that if you don’t at least attempt to plan ahead when you have an infant child to watch over, then you’ll usually get nothing done. So far, in our neglect of everything that is not named Bean, we have succeeded in putting ourselves in one bad position after another. The dishes mount, the layers of dirt on my car are slowing us down in traffic, and my work shirts all need ironing. Now, more than ever, I need to get organized. I need a list and a fine tip black sharpie to hash little checkmarks next to each item.

Yep, that’d do it. But, of course the Bean would be at the top of that list and depending on the amount of work item number one requires then the rest might just sit there on the page taunting me and begging for a little check mark. After all, a sharpie only works if you take off the cap.