If I could choose my possible next life, I would be a dog.

Zola, my English bulldog, probably has one of the easiest existences in the entire world. Her day consists of four major actions: sleeping, pooping/peeing, eating/drinking, and playing. With a heavy emphasis on the sleeping part. At this very moment, she is forlornly looking at me, asking for the playing aspect of her evening, but oh, she lost interest and is now gnawing on her Nylabone. Her attention span is that of a goldfish. 

I'm fairly certain that I can summarize how she views everything outside of herself:

• Me - The Ulti-Mommy, who is awesome but also gives baths.
• Three - The Kinda-Mommy, who gets upset when jumped upon in the middle of the night and does not like slobbery kisses.
• The Cats - Small, occasionally mean, Sharp-Footed Puppies.
• People - Givers of pets. 
• Cars: Friends?
• Outside: The Poop and Pee Place; see also: where People are. 
• Other Animals And/Or Inanimate Objects: Friends!!

Ahh, the simple life. She very much lives in The Now, where one second is an eternity and yet however has no meaning once it's over. Recalling her essentially non-existant attention span, if I go into the bathroom and close the door for some fucking peace, she freaks out for a second, warbling helplessly until she forgets what she was doing. In her mind, I no longer exist or might as well be dead. And when I emerge from my moment of respite, she acts as if I have been gone forever, spins around and does this little stompy dance. 

This scenario, of course, has provided much amusement for me and the husband. One day, while I was at work, Three closed the door to our bathroom*, and Zola figured, "Oh, he is gone! I shall feast upon the Sharp-Footed Puppies' meals! Lalala!!" She was munching happily (and would later throw it up - we've discovered this wonderful pattern and try our best to make sure she only eats kibble) the cat food, as Three, who had just a few seconds before, left the bathroom. He stood there for a bit, deliberating what actions he should take, when finally, he boomed, "Zola! Bad dog!!" Hilarity ensued. She leapt about two feet in the air, bounced off the wall, and ran into our living room, frantically searching for a hideout, a nook, ANYTHING, that would assuage the anger of the Kinda-Mommy. She caught sight of our couch and decided at that very moment that she needed to be under that couch. Now, she's not a big dog, by any means, but our couch has maybe three and a half inches between the bottom of it and the floor. The cats hang out there occasionally, but Zola has never ever once even showed an inkling that this was ever a plan of hers. Well, she lodged her head in the slight gap and was pawing determinedly, trying to wedge herself under the couch. Three could only try to keep himself from laughing, while simultaneously providing discipline for this stupid animal. After about 30 seconds of fighting with our couch, she accepted defeat and brought her head up, looking sheepish and walking dejectedly to her kennel, or as Three calls it, "Prison."

Zola does, however, show glimpses of memory. Like whenever I say "Ride?" she gets all excited because she remembers that something she likes follows this word. When we reach the parking lot, you can almost see the wheels turning in that teeny, tiny brain of hers, as she goes to every single car in our trajectory expectantly, knowing that one of these Car/Friend? things is the provider of this ultimate happiness. We only have one car, but she's a dog, so really, what can I expect?

There's an innocence to it that I adore. When I anthropomorphize her, I imagine her with a high-pitched voice and a four-year-old vocabulary, possibly speaking in LOLcat, excitedly explaining the difficulties of her day.

"OMG, Mommy, I was so bored, but then I slept and then I got up but was bored again and I wanted to go for a walk but then forgot what I was doing and OMG AI MISSDED U AI CAN HAZ PETZ???"

Then there's the pluses of not having to worry about finances, peer pressure, meeting crappy in-laws, etc. Sigh. Do you hear me, God? Next time?? I wanna be my dog. 

* Note: our animals have this expectation that we are always available. Kitkat and Bina will attack the door if we close it, and Kitkat has a habit of trying to sit on my lap while I'm trying to take care of business. It depends on our moods on whether or not we will shut the door, because both options kind of piss us off.