turned away. It looked as though I lived in a family of dimwits. - W. Bruce Cameron

Full of manic energy, I burst past him and skittered around in the house, leaping over furniture. I spotted Smokey and took off in pursuit, chasing him up the stairs and barking when he dove under Mom and Dad’s bed. “Bailey!” Mom called to me sternly. “Bad dog, Bailey,” the boy said crossly. I was astounded at this false accusation. Bad? I’d been accidentally locked in the garage but was more than willing to forgive them. Why were they scowling at me like that, shaking their fingers at me?

People are vastly more complicated than dogs and served a much more important purpose. The job of a good dog was ultimately to be with them, remaining by their sides no matter what course their lives may take. All I could do now was offer him comfort, the assurance that as he left this life he was not alone but rather tended by the dog who loved him more than anything in the whole world.

That’s how life is. Some dogs get treats for doing almost nothing, and some dogs are good dogs and get no treats at all.