Soupbone, or, it's good to be a dog.

I made soup last week. This was a problem for the little dog.

Not the soup itself – I didn't let her get within sniffing distance. Instead, I gave her the choice of the beef soup bones once they'd served their purpose, and she hasn't been able to get anything done for three days because she spends all her time guarding her bone.

Honestly, it's been a little bit of a problem for me as well. The dog carries the bone with her around the house, perpetually looking for a safe hiding spot. I didn't like it so much when I found it under my pillow, but that wasn't nearly as bad as when she left it in the middle of the floor where I found it with my bare foot on a trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Typically, when I give a bone to a dog, I feel pretty good about myself. Our household has a fairly strict regimen around the type of bones that are suitable for dogs and which ones aren't, so when I get the all-clear to throw a dog a bone, it's a good day for all of us. But I'm starting to feel bad for Sophie. She's putting so much energy into guarding her treasure she’s getting very little enjoyment from it. Plus, she's pretty concerned the dog that outweighs her by ninety pounds got a bigger bone.

It's always a pleasure to see a dog illustrate what appears to be a basic truth of the universe. Remember the fable about the dog holding a bone who sees his reflection in the water and thinks it's another dog with a better bone? In the end, he drops his bone trying to grab the water bone and loses everything.

Dumb, right?

The Dog and His Bone is one of Aesop's Fables, one of many that were first gathered in one place around 2,600 years ago. It wouldn't have continued being told for centuries if there wasn't something in it that resonated. I mean, look around us. Our world is full of people looking for bigger bones, even if it means they have to snatch them from someone else, and even if their pursuit of a bigger bone means they lose everything they already have.

I'm not immune to that. My favorite pastime while I'm sitting at my computer, supposedly working, is to look at real estate offerings around the world. So far, my favorites have been a twelve-bedroom castle in Scotland and an estate on the island of Dominica. Most days I look for a place big enough for my entire extended family and a few guests. On the other hand, there are those times I look for a one bedroom shack a half day's travel by dog sled from the closest village.

In my defense, though, I know better. I'm just daydreaming, imagining a different life. But what I've noticed is that I never look for an apartment in New York or a suburb close to a mall. I basically dream of recreating the life I already lead, except for better food or better weather.

Oh, well. While Sophie was napping today, I threw out her bone. She looked around for a bit, but pretty quickly forgot all about it and went back to enjoying her life, despite not having her grandest dreams fulfilled.

It's good to be a dog.

Copyright 2024 Brent Olson