. . . is an end unto itself.
Not a weapon.
Not a punching bag.
Not a soldier.
Not a cop.
Not a security asset.
Not a gladiator.
Don't leave it tied up and barking for hours and hours.
Don't kick it.
Keep up with its shots.
Get it fixed.
Don't make a dog a vessel for rage.
Scratch its ears.
Rub its belly.
Make a fist and watch it rub its snout against your knuckles.
Shake hands, if you must.
Accept that you will never fully grasp what goes on in the mind of a dog.
Forgive your dog for not being able to create a robotic missile guidance system or write a macroeconomics textbook.
Get over the fact that a dog, unfortunately, eats like a pig.
Accept that your dog may jump into your lap, or sleep on your couch.
And, as fucking disgusting as it is, forgive your dog for licking your face. Get a towel. Don't hate the mutt.
And if none of this works for you . . . get a cat. Or a bird. Or a snake.
Or go petless.
You can do that, too.
A dog is not an act of conspicuous consumption.
A dog is an end unto itself.
Glad we could clear all that up.
