Sharing is Caring

I know how beautiful and courageous it is to dip the pen in the inkwell early on, then to stay motivated, finding other voices to keep you inspired. Never give up. Always dare to dream... In the electronic age, all can be heard. The depth of your audience is up to you.

Friday, May 6, 2011

My Dogs Are On Facebook
Barry James Hickey

Georgie Girl and her accomplice Portia are rascal mutts. I know they take me for granted. I used to wonder what they do around the house all day while they send me to fetch money to keep them living in doggy heaven. Then I stumbled across something very disturbing this week.

My dogs are on Facebook.

Are dogs intelligent? I suppose. I know dumber people. But dogs are also cunning master manipulators. My girls always wake me before sunrise to feed them. They force me to walk them at least once a day. They eat dinner before I am allowed. I had to give up Sunday church services for the dog park. And why do I have to chill their water bowls?

Sure, they let me sit on the couch sometimes. After all, I paid for it. That king-sized bed has my name on it, not theirs. But they don't care. They think they have me trained. But this Facebook business… I feel like I lost my best friends.

I should have seen it coming. There were early signs, dire warnings. But I can't smell or see or hear like a dog.

The hole I found dug under the fence last week? It turns out Georgie Girl and her live-in girlfriend Portia were dragging coaxial cable from the empty house next door, stealing the land line signal for their secret lair tucked in a corner of the garage behind stacks of old boxes.

Last week several UPS boxes arrived c/o "Ladies of the House" from Dogs-R-Us. It wasn't Christmas or their birthdays. Dogs don't celebrate Easter or Mother's Day (at least I don't think so). Inside were behavioral toys, peanut butter biscuits and a yard clean up tonic "for a sweet smelling yard".

I discovered that Georgie Girl hacked into my old laptop computer in the garage while Portia swiped my credit card from my wallet when I was sleeping. They bought $200 worth of junk. (That's my credit card limit - I'm not a rich man - two female dogs are expensive upkeep.) When I confronted them they smiled and barked, "It's a woman's prerogative." (Whatever that means.)

I threatened to seal up their doggy door but they know I won't go through with it. I'm not Alpha enough. Besides, when they poop in the house they always make me clean it up.

Now this Facebook business behind my back. They posted over 200 profile pictures and I'm not in any of them. They describe themselves as voluptuous, rather than pudgy. I discovered their interest in "men" and that Georgie Girl likes "romantic walks in the rain," while Portia enjoys "romantic dinners by candlelight." They're such liars. Georgie Girl whines when it drizzles and Portia's idea of a romantic dinner is gorging herself on sweat socks.

I sat them down and spent a fruitless afternoon talking to them about the pitfalls and dangers of social media between strangers. But they don't care. They want what they want when they want it.

I checked into other social sites. They opted out of MySpace. There are no videos of them on YouTube yet. (I returned the digital camera they ordered.) One of them saved Twitter as a favorite site. I'm sure they'll have something to bark about in 140 characters or less.

I went into my Facebook account and posted on their wall, telling their "male friends" that the two of them are just two fat lazy bitches in heat and that they don't look anything like their pictures in real life. The next day they had over thirty hits. Males looking to "hook up" with females on the plump side.

And just how did they get more friends than me on Facebook? It's a dog's life.

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