I need a happy dog.

I suppose it’s quite obvious that I’m not a big fan of the family dog. Over the years, I’ve described her as stupid, noisy, smelly and a bit of an evolutionary mistake. I’ve complained about her constant bowel movement and the way she barks like a lunatic every time I enter the house.

Things were a little bit different, though, when I got home last night. Instead of the usual helter-skelter, edge of your seat rumpus welcome that I usually get, there was, well, nothing. My ears weren’t bleeding as I made my way into the living room and my ankles hadn’t been chewed off. This left me feeling pretty good. That is until I found her in a corner with her tail between her legs.

I’m sorry to report that, despite my extreme manliness, my heart turned immediately to goo. She looked so utterly miserable that, for no reason at all, I was beside myself with guilt. For the first time in years, I desperately wanted to cheer her up and proceeded to do so by carrying her around and rubbing her behind the ears. But still, her tiny tail refused to budge. I gave her a bone which elicited a mild response but after gnawing at it for a while, she crawled miserably under the bed. I was despondent.

What could have happened? Why wasn’t she her usual yappy self? I can’t possibly loathe a dog that looks this miserable. It’s no fun. No fun at all. In desperation, I tried to lift her spirits again with a bout of playful wrestling but it was hopeless.

So I gave up and trudged back to my room broken-hearted.

Thankfully though, she’s fine now. It might’ve been a mild fever or a stomach upset that got her down. But whatever it is, I just hope that she stays happy. If only just so that I can abhor her more.