Happiness is not a warm puppy

 by Ashley Lister

 Charles M Schulz* said, “Happiness is a warm puppy.” I beg to differ on this point. I can illustrate my argument with the following experience.

As some of you may know, I regularly sit in front of my computer and write. I have an ergonomic keyboard. I have a swan-necked monitor stand. I also have an extra large office chair.

The reason for the extra large office chair is because I’m a dog owner. We have four dogs, named after characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Drusilla, Spike, Anya and Mr Giles. Some of the dogs regularly demand to share my chair whilst I’m writing.

They have a routine.

Dru shares the chair with me first thing on a morning, taking the 5:00am until 7:30am shift. On a weekend Spike and Giles compete for chair-sharing privileges from 8:00am until 10:00am. None of them are bothered about sharing a chair from 10:00am until noon. After noon it’s usually Dru who sits at the back of the chair whilst I sit at the front.

This is not a convenient arrangement.

Dru has some mobility issues. She can’t jump into the chair. She demands help. But I’m a responsible dog lover and I’m helpful so I lift her into the chair and she sits behind me. She’s fat, so she takes up most of the chair’s seat. And she snores whilst she’s asleep back there but I have to admit it’s a comforting sound.

She was sitting behind me the other day. I was busy writing. And that was when I made the discovery that happiness is not a warm puppy.

At that moment I did feel warm. I felt warm around my backside – where the dog was asleep.

“Wow!” I thought. “This dog generates so much heat my arse is sweating.”

It was a whimsical thought. I placed a hand between the dog at my rear and the seat of my jeans. I was curious to know what my hand would make of the heat being generated from the super-warm dog behind me.

My hand came away wet. Yellow liquid dripped from my fingers. The yellow liquid stank of dog pee. The dog had peed on my backside whilst I was writing.

I cursed.

I was outraged.

“Your dog’s just peed on my arse!” I told my wife.

She brayed sympathetic laughter. I’m exaggerating about the sympathy. I’m fortunate she didn’t try and camcord the event and send it in to Harry Hill.

So I had a warm dog – probably a decade older than most puppies – but not a lot of the happiness that Charles M Schulz predicted.

And what lesson have I learnt from this experience?

Actually, I’ve learnt a very important lesson. For all those writers who’ve ever wanted to be showered with gold by their adoring fans: be careful what you wish for, it might come from a warm puppy.

* Charles M Schulz’s real name is Charlie Brown and he is the father of Snoop Doggy Bag.