He didn’t want to get up this morning (neither did I, really. I had checked my work email yesterday and knew what was in store after being out of the office for a week.)
I laughed at the idea that I offended him. He is usually the stinky offensive “dirty dog.” He digs, roots in mud puddles, rolls around in things, and sticks his nose in all sorts of disgusting places. I don’t let him lick me and he’s supposed to stay on “the dog spot” on the bed (which he usually does not.) He just had a bath at the doggie hotel during his vacation so his whites are whiter than usual, but to me, he still has dog breath.
To each his own, I thought. It reminded me of a conversation I had with my youngest at an amusement park. We brought one of his friends who doesn’t like all the same kinds of rides that my son does. I told him he needed to pick the rides that they both like and next time invite a friend who wants to go on all the upside-down rides.
“The world would be pretty boring if everyone was the same,” I told him. “You’d all be waiting in the same lines for the same things. They’d probably run out of slushies and cotton candy. There would be too much competition for the same things.”
I like coffee, my dog doesn’t. He likes disgusting, smelly things, I don’t. To each his own.