I don't know if you've noticed that I don't have any kids. That's because I don't want to have kids. I have had people say just awful things to me about this, but my favorite thing people say is, "Well, you'd feel different about motherhood once you had one."
Okay. Well. Is this something we really want to experiment with? I mean, should I just go ahead and have a child, which I don't want to do, on the off chance that maybe I'd feel like this was a good idea once it was here and I'd made a lifetime commitment to nurture and care for it? It just really never seemed like such a smart scheme to me.
But you may have noticed that I do have a dog. This is my first dog ever. I never had one growing up. We were always cat people. My mother started getting dogs just as soon as I moved out of the house. To say that they replaced me would not at all be inaccurate. They have presented her with exactly the same problems that I did: each one has been unruly, uncontrollable, wild, gets Ds in math, and dates Republicans.
So, this being my first dog, I really had no way of knowing if she was a smart dog or not. I knew that Beagles were in the top 10 of least-intelligent breeds, and if you'll recall from the 7 million dollars I spent on the dog's DNA test, she is part Beagle. But the other two breeds she has in her are supposed to be highly intelligent.
Did you know you can Google "Dog IQ tests" and there are many little tests you can give your canine? First I did the ol' throw the towel over your dog's head thing. My mother said her Beagle will sit there all day with the towel on its head, just accepting the fact that it lives in terrycloth world now.
I am happy to tell you that Lula got that towel off in two seconds, so I moved on to other rigorous exams. I was moving furniture around and hiding treats and dirtying pans. Oh, I went to town on the IQ tests.
And she did so well on them! My dog was BRILLIANT! The whole next day, every time I looked at her, I was so full of the pride. Maybe she was the smartest dog ever. Maybe she secretly knew how to solve this economic crisis, if only she could get out the human words. Perhaps she wasn't really humping the cat, she was trying to tap out messages to me in Morse code!
So I went back online and got more. This time there was a video. It showed this very British man who had a tin can. He made a Lab stay and watch while he put a treat under said tin can. As soon as the Lab was allowed to move, that dog tore over there, knocked over the can, and got the treat. Then they showed a Shi-Tzu, who wandered over and sniffed the can, then gave up.
Well! I knew how Marie Curie, over here, would do! I emptied poor Marvin's can of olives (that's where your olives went, hon, in case you were looking for them. You really shouldn't store open cans in the fridge anyway, botulism boy) and made Tallulah lie down and stay. She watched while I put turkey under the can. "Okay!" I said.
She got up and hurried over. She bent her head down to look at the can. And she stared. And stared.
"Get the turkey, girl!" I yelled. I'm afraid I even tapped the can a little.
She gave new meaning to the term "hangdog," the way she just kept hanging her head down. I started to feel a little sweaty. "Tallulah!" I said, a little shrilly. "There's turkey under the can! TURKEY!" I may even have lifted the can.
Three words kept running through my head: "Run, Forrest! Run!"
You guys, THIS is why I should not have kids. I would have the kind of kids who have nervous breakdowns when they get Bs, or who have to run away from home because they didn't get into Harvard. I was SO DISAPPOINTED in her that she wasn't as smart as that freakish, egghead Lab from the video who was probably on performance-enhancing drugs just to make all of us with NORMAL dogs feel bad.
I stopped giving her IQ tests after that, because I am thinking she's gonna break out in hives, or I am, or the turkey will.
That's all I have to say about that.