Impossible to work

I have received word that a friend recently asked another friend what had happened to my bleak and cynical view of life. Gentle reader, do not fear, I am still bitterly jaded by the nothing new of the sun’s diurnal arc and the vast (sometimes green, often brown) wasteland that it never fully illuminates. It’s not my fault babies are cute. It’s not my fault puppies are cute. It’s not my fault that I like cute things. All that they do is help to ease the soul-crushing press that is existence. Indeed, the cuteness of these little creatures is nothing more than a painful reminder of the continual progress of time. I just happen to enjoy making myself forget about the painful drudgery that is life by being around (on occasion) small children and puppies. These happy moments end so quickly that it is not possible to behold an infant without internally mourning its impending loss of innocence.

It’s important to make sure that the wee ones understand just how miserable life is at an early age, lest they be duped into thinking that living is a playful romp through prairies dotted with wildflowers”^a1a”. This can clearly be seen in my dog’s name. An English Bulldog named Henri is clearly little more than a symbol of the centuries of Franco-British conflict”^a2a”. His secondary name Napoleon, is a reminder that his work (as a bulldog) will be cut short (in this case, due to his very short life expectancy). He may well win the hearts and minds of many. He might even be able to escape Elba and return to the continent, but in the end, he’ll just be shipped off to rocky and hideous St. Helena to die (or be murdered). Is it not clear that my dog’s name is nothing more than a pleasant sound describing a horrible end?

Did I not tell all of you about the blood lost shortly after the photograph of EllyJo and Henri was taken? Yea, this dog understands the violent struggle inherent in moving through this world and already (at only 11 weeks of age) enters the fray with bravado. Oh how my dog, so near to my heart, has already learned of the pleasures of cruelty. His fierce jaw more than willing to clamp down on human flesh.

So do not say that I have gone soft or that I have turned optimist. I am every bit as cynical as ever. I have always enjoyed the company of babies (until they start crying), small children (until they start screaming) and puppies (unless they are ugly).

That said, I am near to certain that dogs bring about a heightened sense of well-being. Indeed, I know that more than one of you use an image of my dog as your computer’s desktop. How can you deny the genuinely uplifting cuteness of my dog? While seeing him as a puppy can only remind you of his impending doom (St. Helena and all that), is it not also possible to revel in the moment of youth before you?

1. when in reality it much more closely resembles a trek through marshes and muddy rivers hunting for crawdads and alligators aaa
2. With a secondary quibble on the word ornery aaa