1. How to not give a F*** (DGAF).
It was the second night of Passover seder this year and I was confident that I had really honed my DGAF disposition — I hadn’t stepped foot in temple, I was dipping the parsley in vodka, and I didn’t have the slightest intention of giving up bread for the week. All in all, I was feeling good, independent, and pretty bad ass. But that all quickly changed when my dog came prancing around the table and, in full view, in front of the fireplace, dropped an enormous deuce. It looked almost like a sacrifice, or an offering, sitting assertively with the fire aglow behind it. We cleaned it up and sanitized the area, but didn’t discover the second, equally prodigious, poop coil until long after eating the afikoman.
And so, in short: My dog — 11 months old, 80 lbs, blonde hair, fiendish smile — let us go through our entire Passover seder, dinner and dessert without so much as a peep about the feces sitting mere inches from our feet. Survey says? Charmingly IDGAF.
2. Good taste.
My dog doesn’t deny herself luxuries, and why would she with that life yolosophy of hers? If I were to guess, I’d say all dogs are high maintenance, and that there’s some sort of correlation between the manufacture or label of an item of clothing, and the way it tastes. Who knows. All I know is I saw my dog literally eating my cashmere sweater, savoring it like it was a cronut or something. I tried getting the sweater back from her by tossing an old pair of Uggs her way, but to no avail. She didn’t even turn her head, as if to imply, Yes, I WOULD rather eat 12-year-old gum off of pavement than those Uggs, while exuding nothing but class.
3. Try everything once.
I’ve only witnessed this canine blasé outlook on food, but then again, we don’t really give dogs much of an opportunity to roam free, do we?
I often ask myself why Anthony Bourdain doesn’t just travel to Korea to eat live octopus with a big fluffy golden retriever by his side, instead of some of his usual sidekicks. Bringing a dog would be beneficial to both of them — each testing the other’s food limit. I can see it now — Bourdain, eating a couple Racoon testicles, and polishing off his meal with a Warthog’s rectum, and his dog quickly following suit. Then Bourdain — watching the dog spot a rusty turd on a side-street and lick it clean — is suddenly compelled to one-up his partner and do the same. Each challenging the other to push themselves one step further.
4. Unshakable happiness.
In a recent episode of Louie, resident sage Dr. Bigelow was walking his 3-legged dog when Louie stopped him to ask for girl advice. Dr. B. tells him to look a the dog. “How many legs does it have?” Louie answers “three” and the doctor replies,
The answer is, it has plenty of legs. Had four, but a coyote in Poughkeepsie chewed the other one off.
Look at his face. Perfectly happy. Belly is full. Just looking, waiting to see what comes next.
You know the only thing happier than a three legged dog? A four-legged dog.
Dogs do have the ability to put things into perspective for us. They’re rarely ever not happy and they find pleasure in the most mundane things. They’re perennially ignorant and so constantly elated. And if they do get sad, it’s only because they’re craving human contact — not because they binged on doughnuts the night before.
5. The futility in playing games.
No deliberate delays in answering your texts, no trying to make you jealous — nothing! If a dog is crushing hard, you’ll know it. Mainly because they cut right to the chase with immediate nose-to-butt contact. And I know what you’re thinking: Where’s the romance in that? Well you’d be surprised how much tickle lies in one little nose-hair.
6. A YOLO attitude.
It’s their lifelong maxim, and the reason why it takes them about 3.5 seconds to decide, You know what? Fuck it, why not, I’ll only live once! as they mount the rear end of a Yorkie and start humping her in the middle of Madison Avenue. Their nonchalance is unparalleled and commendable, and it never wavers. Me? I’m sitting here debating whether or not to add a San Pellegrino to my meal and be robbed of three, very useful, dollars when my mom calls to tell me that my dog pooped out a five-dollar bill today. When she finished her “business,” she apparently skipped right off into a down comforter with her head held high.
7. All rules are subject to change.
In a dog’s world, rules are malleable, and only because they said so. They don’t let arbitrary regulations hold them back, that’s all; they’re quick-witted like that. My dog, for instance, knows she’s not allowed on the couch but, more importantly, she also knows that no one is going to say “no” to her if she jumps on them while they’re on the couch, walks on their head, and then sits down on their face.