Speaking of dogs, Tuesday has aroused my ire by writing some rather slanderous words about my favorite breed, the bulldog. We had bulldogs all the years I was growing up, and I love them. They are incredibly affectionate and have an indefinable something that makes them wonderful. Words fail me. I confess that maybe slander is the wrong word, since bulldogs are ugly by conventional standards; but I think they’re so ugly they’re beautiful.
My father used to try to train one of the bulldogs, Emily, to stay at the curb and then cross the street on his command. He would try to get her to sit at the curb, even pushing her behind down to try to impress upon her his command to SIT. She would always pop back up again. Push, pop. Push, pop. We would stand at the living room picture window, looking on and sniggering as he tried to “train” Emily. Eventually, she would get tired of standing, and sit (just to take a load off, mind you).
“Good dog!” my father would say, relieved.