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.