Since my metamorphosis from the crate two years ago, much has been said about my previous “owners”; do I resent them? Do I wonder if they are aware of how far I have progressed?
The gospel truth is, I don’t give it a moment’s consideration.
I say this not out of bitterness, but based on the fact that he who angers you controls you, and I am the Charles; if even dad can’t control me, why would I let someone else have the honor?
At threescore and ten, a human’s life is short enough as it is, and a dog’s life is shorter still, much too short to be spent confined by the shackles of another’s making. I instead choose to live in a state of what dad calls “joyful abandon”, every mile I travel is with the throttle wide open.
Granted, this sometimes doesn’t translate well into “polite” society, but I am Charlemagne Bravissimo, and I careth not. I spend absolutely no time concerning myself with such mundane facts. I let dad deal with the consequences of my charking, flouncing, thrashing, splashing, the sound of his exasperated voice fading in the distance is like a beautiful symphony to this girl’s ears.
Consider the tragic passing of Max; it would be very easy to carry bitterness and malice towards the dogs that did the actual damage, or the owner who shows absolutely no remorse, but what does that gain? It won’t bring the hairy little goober back to life, but I don’t believe for a minute that even if it did, Max himself would carry malice in his heart; it’s not in a dog’s nature to dwell on the past.
There’s a reason why the view over the handlebars is many times larger than that of the reflection in the rear view mirrors; although you do need to consider from whence you came, don’t you think the future is much more exciting?
Chark the freakin’ Diem!!!