Listen up, folks. Have I got some news for you!! Yesterday was the most exciting day of my young life. While I was waiting by the back door for some birds or squirrels to come by, Mom came home from work. That's not the exciting part, although we do all like it when Mom arrives. What's exciting is the next part.
Dad was cooking supper and, nodding to the counter, he said to Mom, "You see that mail we got from the county right there?"
Mom sighed. "I just walked in," she said wearily.
"I'll help you out," Dad said. "It's a bill. For a dog license."
My ears perked right up and my adorable, buggy eyes popped out 👀. A dog license?? How does the county know how much I want to get out by myself?
Mom's eyes bugged out a bit, too. "A dog license? Did we get that last year?"
"Dunno," Dad replied. "I don't remember it."
"Well, how much?" Mom asked.
"$10."
"Oh. Well that's not too bad."
"Not too bad," Dad said, "but one more instance of money going out for Gus and no money coming in. Gus," he said, looking at me in all seriousness, "like they say in the mafia, everybody has to earn for the family. You got $10?"
I looked away and sighed. $10 is more than I have, I thought sadly. Well, let's face it, $10 is about $10 more than I'll ever have. I'm a dog, for Pete's sake. That dog license might as well be $1,000. So close to freedom and yet so far.
Mom took a look at the bill and noted that the vet must have sold us out. "It's got his vaccination stuff on here and his name and birthday and all." Just like Mom's license, I thought! A real license for me! I was fighting to hold back the pure joy radiating through my body, which looks something like this!
I retreated to my Big Joe beanbag chair while the family ate their supper, and I closed my eyes. I could just see myself with my new dog license! I'd bark across the fence to that mutt, Maurice. And I'd holler out across the street to Cody the chihuahua. And I'd say, "Fellas, saddle up! Meet me out front tonight at 7:00 for a night on the town!" And they'd be like -
I could see us rolling up to PetSmart before it closes and strutting in there without leashes like, "What are you fools lookin' at? We're some leashless dogs on the prowl up in this place!" And when we get kicked out of there, we'd swing through the Dairy Queen drive thru to see the looks on those Queens faces when three dogs come rolling up to the window like, "We want Blizzards with real ice cream and real cookies and real chocolate, death by chocolate be damned!" Then off to the dog park after dark to run around and smell all the scents from all the poor pets that had to be brought there in the daylight by humans driving cars or walking them on leashes. And we'd shout into the darkness, "You chumps! Don't you know you have a dog license!!!" And we'd laugh, because I'm the first dog to figure that one out. And those guys, Maurice and Cody, they'd be so glad to be my buddies now, no more lip from across the fence from them because they now know what freedom from the neighborhood feels like all because of me. They'd love me so much they'd laugh as we headed back to the car for the race away from Animal Control. Then we'd head back to the neighborhood; I'd drop the boys off, and I'd roll up to Bailey's house, and I'd be like, "Hey, girl. You wanna go for a ride down to the river beach, where we can watch the stars, eat some of the sticks that wash up on the shore, and snuggle a bit in that little slice of light from the crescent moon?" Ah, what a night that'd be.
The din of clanking plates announced the end of supper time and rousted me from my daydream. But it stuck with me, and I thought about it for a little while. Then I had an idea. I could do odd jobs around the house like Big Brother for money! That's how I could get the $10!
"Hey Mom," I said while she was cleaning up the kitchen. "I was thinking about earning some cash. Maybe I could do some jobs around the house." Mom raised her eyebrows at me, but I continued. "I mean, I couldn't rake up the hedge clippings or blow the grass off the sidewalk with the leaf blower, but I could push the trash can down to the street or put the recycling in the bin. Better yet," I said, with a twinkle in my eye, "I could pick up all the sticks in the yard. Ok, scratch that last one," I said hurriedly, when Mom's eyes bugged out again.
"First off," Mom said, "stick picking up not included, those are Big Brother's jobs. Second, even if there was a job for you around the house, why do you want to earn cash?"
"To pay for my dog license, of course."
"Gus, you are such a great dog!" Mom said with much pride. "I love that you want to chip in!"
Chip in, my tail, I thought. "Mom," I said, "Dad said he isn't shelling out for my license, and I want it bad. Real bad."
"Well, Gus, what do you care if we pay for the dog license or not?"
Was she serious? Duh! I closed my eyes for a brief moment to visualize me and the boys peeling out at the top of the street, howling into the twilight.
"Gus?"
"Oh, right. Sorry - I was just having a vision there. I want the license so I can drive, of course."
Mom's eyes bugged out one last time. Then she put her head down and her shoulders started shaking. It seemed like she couldn't speak. When she picked up her head, tears were rolling down her cheeks, which were getting redder and redder with the silent laughter wracking her body. Finally, she let out a loud bah ha ha, and I realized she thought I was just a big joke. I tucked my tail between my legs and slunk off to my beanbag bed. When she was done convulsing with laughter, she came and sat down on the floor next to me. Wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her t-shirt, she leaned in close. I looked away. The nerve. To come and try to make up so soon after making a fool out of me!
"Gus," she said, gently stroking my head. "Dogs don't drive cars." I pulled my head away and readjusted myself in the beanbag so that my bum was facing her. "Fine," she said. "Be that way. But if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me."
Later, while Mom was watching TV, I hopped up on the couch and slid my paw over her phone - you know you're in with someone when your paw is one of the phone's recognized prints. I scrolled through her photos til I found what I wanted. I pushed the phone over to Mom with my nose. "See," I said, "dogs do drive cars."
"Guuusss," Mom said, trying not to chuckle. "That's a picture Uncle Leo sent me that he took of some dogs in a parking lot."
"Right," I said. "A parking lot to which they drove that car." Was she really this dense?
"Gus, I promise you - dogs do not drive cars, and - "
"Because they don't know they have licenses!" I interrupted with frustration. "But now the secret's out, and I want my doggone license!"
Now Mom let herself laugh, showing she wasn't really sorry for hurting my feelings earlier. "The license is just a way for the county to make money off people who have pets. We pay them to sort of have permission to have you living with us in this county. There are licenses for all kinds of things - like fishing, hunting, selling houses, practicing medicine, and selling beer. Having a dog is just another one of those government money makers."
This was bad news. I couldn't stop my sad and confused look from showing on my face, just like in the photo below. When humans make me sad and confused, you can see I feel it all the way to my soul.
"Come on, Gus. Don't be sad," Mom said, trying to cheer me up. "You know I can take you wherever you want to go. Just say the word, and we'll go."
Right. Because every guy wants his Mom driving him everywhere. "Mom, I'm ready to spread my wings!"
"Even in dog years, Gus, you're not that old. Tell you what, once the weather cools off, I'll take you to the store, and you can wait in the driver's seat for me, ok?" Mom offered. "And," she said, "I'll even let you sit up to look out the front while I'm driving in the neighborhood, and you can help, just like I help Dad! That will be just like driving and pretty much the only driving dogs ever do. So, you'll be just like all the other dogs."
Help her drive? That is not at all my dream. I guess it might have potential, though, even if it sounded lame. "Just in the neighborhood?" I clarified. "That's the only place I can help you drive?"
"Well, Gus, you have to be somewhere safe when we're driving at higher speeds, and looking out the front window is not it. So, yes, the neighborhood is my only offer."
"But you 'help' Dad with the driving everywhere," I said with air quotes, because I'm not sure Dad appreciates Mom's help in the same way she's going to appreciate mine - and she could use some real help on the big roads.
"You let me and Dad worry about that," Mom said. "That's my offer, take it or leave it."
I sighed and headed down to the basement to let Dad know the bad news, forget about Mom's sad offer, and snuggle up in my downstairs beanbag. Back to dreaming about my freedom.
But in the end, you know I took the deal right?
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