At some point in the course of human history, it was decided that a dog's life was an easy life. I can't imagine where they got that idea, although, humans have an irritating habit of making things up to suit their purpose. Like this crazy notion that I actually enjoy minced up animal parts soaked in congealed fat and molded into a cylinder shape so that I have to gnaw into it like a beaver chomping on a log. They think I love this.

Faye thinks it's hilarious to hide the food from me, or pretend she's going to eat it, or in weaker moments, actually eat it herself. She seems to be under the impression that food is the be all and end all of my existence. The absolute zenith of my day. Most people seem to think this of dogs. I suppose when you get down to it, it's probably true. But that's only because of the lack of alternative stimulation.

I will say this for the Bebop, there is never a dull moment. There is always some new and unforeseen method of torture one of my roommates can cook up for me, the master of this of course, being Ed. Everyone else wonders why I hang around Ed. I especially get that vibe from Spike. There are times when Ed's manhandling of me gets so ridiculous, that even he is motivated to get off his ass and put a stop to it. And it is in these moments, when he is liberating me from sayÉa hammock made of Faye's underwear, that he gives me that look. Dogs are very perceptive of looks, much more so than humans, which is unfortunate for Spike. Spike does most of his communicating in looks. In fact, you can pretty much disregard about 99% of the things that actually come out of his mouth. His face is always speaking an entirely different language.

Anyway, Spike gives me that look. That look that says, "What the hell are you doing?" And by that he means hanging around Edward. Truth is, I like Edward. See, Edward is the only one on the ship who has the right idea. Everyone else has all sorts of agendas and hidden motives, but not Ed. Everything Ed does is because she wants to do it. Right then, and in that second.

Spike thinks he lives like that, but he's full of it. Again. The face. Faye also considers herself to be footloose and fancy free, but she's more constricted than those outfits she wears. She's just convinced herself she's one way when it's obvious she's not. JetÉwellÉJet has pretty much accepted the fact that this freak show is his life, and I can respect that as well.

But Ed...Ed knows what it's all about. See, Ed thinks like a dog.

I feel like licking my balls? Boom. I'm lickin' em. How about wiping my ass on the carpet? Bam. Ass officially wiped. Maybe I feel like having my way with that police officers' leg. Don't think twice. This is the way life is supposed to be lived. And I'm not taking about some stupid grab the tiger by the tail, you only live once bullshit. That's something that humans made up.

See, humans are so preoccupied with their own self-inflicted drama that they actually have to remind themselves that they only live once. How sad is that? If Ed feels some wild compulsion to stand on her head and sing I've Got A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts, she's doing it. And why not? Does is it hurt anyone? Is anyone's quality of life diminished because she decided that she is going to talk backwards for the rest of the day, or I need to lick myself? No.

Humans keep saying that you shouldn't sweat the small stuff, but the small stuff is what this life is all about. People think dog's live for food and sleep but they have it wrong. Dogs live off of food and sleep. We live for being scratched in that tiny spot behind our ears. Or more specifically, the table scraps Spike always tosses me when no one's looking. Or the way Faye's towel smells when she gets out of the shower and I get to roll in around in it. Or when I finally manage to wrestle the rope out of Jet's hand and he gets that embarrassed look on his face. Or much more comfortable my spot on the floor feels after I've circled it three times.

I live for Ed. I live for Ed cause she knows what it's like when the whole world under estimates you, and she knows the kind of freedom that can bring. Because she knows that there's no such thing as the three-second rule. Food is food no matter where it's been. Because she does not look down on me when I drink from the toilet. And mostly, because Ed is all about the small stuff.

Sometimes I feel bad for the others. There is so much they are missing.

Oops. I hear Jet running the can opener. I guess I better go check it out.

That Pavlov stuff is crap. We only come running cause that's what they want us to do. It amuses them for some reason. So they're not totally oblivious to life's smaller pleasures. I guess that gives the species a little hope.

"His master's voice, huh boy?" Jet says to me, smiling as he plops my dinner down in front of me.

Hmmm... meat cylinder. No matter. I'll just go see what Spike's having.

NOTHIN' BUT THE DAWG IN ME