I had a lot of dogs growing up. Seems like we almost always had a dog, sometimes two.
I don’t remember any talk about “it will teach him responsibility.” Or, “your dog, you have to clean up after him.” Dogs just were a part of our family. They lived with us. And too often in my memory, they died. Old age, hit by cars.
What I don’t remember much of is my dogs getting sick. At least not enough to justify the phrase, “Sick as a dog.”
Seems like it’s always men who use the phrase “sick as a dog.” I tend to have a high pain threshold. A doctor once used dry ice on my foot,
Let me know when it gets to hurting too much to bear.
I never stopped him. He finished the procedure. I put on my shoe. And then I walked out to my car and went into shock.
But, pain tolerance and sickness tolerance are completely different. I can play games in my head with the pain, right? I could be the heroic prisoner vowing, “I’ll never talk.” I could be a Avenger pushing through the pain to accomplish the mission, “I can do this all day.”
But, being sick? That’s completely different. When I get sick, (I think when any man gets sick, we turn into three year old toddlers. Yes, I want my mother! And maybe some milk and cookies.
There’s nothing noble in being sick, in “pushing through.” You never saw an Avenger fighting off a cold while they tried to take out the Hydra base.
I don’t have dogs any more. My lovely wife is allergic to all types of dog hair and dander.
Guess I’ll just have to content myself with being sick as one.
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
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