Morals are most burdensome things. Half the time people carry them all over, never getting a rest from them and never needing the use of their morals. It isn't until they reach their twilight years and begin pondering that they never had much use of their morals and that if they shed them thirty years ago, perhaps they wouldn't be so tired now. The other half of people get their exercise by wrestling and grappling with their morals every chance they can get; usually on the weekends and in dimly lit pubs and seedy bars.
But of all the animals that are the most moral and honest, the dog is top in that he has no morals to speak of. At first it sounds strange and downright backwards to make such a bold statement as this, but make time and hear me out. A dog is not burdened by morals like the rest of us. He knows he has no morals, but doesn't attempt to disguise unlike some of us, and makes no attempt to seek some out.
The dog came into this world naked and figures that that's the way he was meant to be and conducts his day's business au naturale. He isn't burdened like we are, in that we cloak our hides in various get ups and fashions of the day, perhaps to conceal how much hair we've grown in certain areas or poor decisions with ink and needle. But a dog is happy to greet people and old friends naked and revel in that fact, whereas if we just stepped out of the bath, we immediately clothe ourselves or wrap up in several towels before we dare think of seeing company.
A dog isn't burdened with tiresome conversation or events. Often when we see children fidgeting at some event or activity, we also see the mother telling them to be quiet, behave, and act like they're having the times of their lives and be sure to thank the host or hostess when the event is over, even if they'd rather climbed trees or run pell-mell underneath the tables. And often one of us has experienced a run in with an old acquaintance who proceeded to talk our ears off when we wish at the moment that they would hurry up and drop off as that would give us a reason to excuse ourselves and carry on. But a dog is just as likely to fall asleep at these events or during these conversations with no ill will meant, and possibly give a light nip to warn not to bore him so again. He doesn't have to carry out a lie but instead lets the observer know exactly what he wishes and what he thinks of such things.
When we meet strangers, we smile and nod, even without knowing who they are, where they're from, or if they've just escaped out of Sing Sing with the intent of coming across us and doing us in. We're conditioned, despite all logic or reasoning, to be nice to people we don't know a thing about. A dog doesn't have that burden of acting nice, but will run the stranger right out of town or up a tree until he thinks it over and decides that he probably won't do any harm, or that as long as the stranger stays there, he won't bite him. If a stranger gives the dog a bit of food or a pat on the head, the dog realizes that he has a friend for life, since any man that is kind to animals is sure to have a good heart.
A dog isn't burdened by what time of night it is. If he believes that the household is in danger, he has no qualms about raising cain and letting all know that a twig snapped outside of the window, or the wind blew quite vigorously, or that you were snoring too much for his tastes. If we were to attempt acts such as these, we'd be saying "sorry!" a thousand times over, whereas if you point out to the dog that no burglars are outside, he will glance at you and soon fall asleep since you are clearly boring him.
A dog isn't burdened by what some may deem gluttonous behavior. While we clink wineglasses and slowly, methodically masticate our food to a pace that would make a turtle impatient, a dog takes quick note of his growling insides and devours as much food as possible while attempting to make off with yours when your head is turned. It isn't so much that the dog wants your food, but he figures that if you're taking that long on it then you must not be terribly hungry to begin with.
And so, a dog is the most moral animal that I know of. If a man were to attempt all of these acts that I just described, he would be declared insane. But when a dog attempts and succeeds at such things, we beam with pride at his lack of morals, pat him on the head and declare with truth and conviction, "That's a damn good dog!"
But of all the animals that are the most moral and honest, the dog is top in that he has no morals to speak of. At first it sounds strange and downright backwards to make such a bold statement as this, but make time and hear me out. A dog is not burdened by morals like the rest of us. He knows he has no morals, but doesn't attempt to disguise unlike some of us, and makes no attempt to seek some out.
The dog came into this world naked and figures that that's the way he was meant to be and conducts his day's business au naturale. He isn't burdened like we are, in that we cloak our hides in various get ups and fashions of the day, perhaps to conceal how much hair we've grown in certain areas or poor decisions with ink and needle. But a dog is happy to greet people and old friends naked and revel in that fact, whereas if we just stepped out of the bath, we immediately clothe ourselves or wrap up in several towels before we dare think of seeing company.
A dog isn't burdened with tiresome conversation or events. Often when we see children fidgeting at some event or activity, we also see the mother telling them to be quiet, behave, and act like they're having the times of their lives and be sure to thank the host or hostess when the event is over, even if they'd rather climbed trees or run pell-mell underneath the tables. And often one of us has experienced a run in with an old acquaintance who proceeded to talk our ears off when we wish at the moment that they would hurry up and drop off as that would give us a reason to excuse ourselves and carry on. But a dog is just as likely to fall asleep at these events or during these conversations with no ill will meant, and possibly give a light nip to warn not to bore him so again. He doesn't have to carry out a lie but instead lets the observer know exactly what he wishes and what he thinks of such things.
When we meet strangers, we smile and nod, even without knowing who they are, where they're from, or if they've just escaped out of Sing Sing with the intent of coming across us and doing us in. We're conditioned, despite all logic or reasoning, to be nice to people we don't know a thing about. A dog doesn't have that burden of acting nice, but will run the stranger right out of town or up a tree until he thinks it over and decides that he probably won't do any harm, or that as long as the stranger stays there, he won't bite him. If a stranger gives the dog a bit of food or a pat on the head, the dog realizes that he has a friend for life, since any man that is kind to animals is sure to have a good heart.
A dog isn't burdened by what time of night it is. If he believes that the household is in danger, he has no qualms about raising cain and letting all know that a twig snapped outside of the window, or the wind blew quite vigorously, or that you were snoring too much for his tastes. If we were to attempt acts such as these, we'd be saying "sorry!" a thousand times over, whereas if you point out to the dog that no burglars are outside, he will glance at you and soon fall asleep since you are clearly boring him.
A dog isn't burdened by what some may deem gluttonous behavior. While we clink wineglasses and slowly, methodically masticate our food to a pace that would make a turtle impatient, a dog takes quick note of his growling insides and devours as much food as possible while attempting to make off with yours when your head is turned. It isn't so much that the dog wants your food, but he figures that if you're taking that long on it then you must not be terribly hungry to begin with.
And so, a dog is the most moral animal that I know of. If a man were to attempt all of these acts that I just described, he would be declared insane. But when a dog attempts and succeeds at such things, we beam with pride at his lack of morals, pat him on the head and declare with truth and conviction, "That's a damn good dog!"
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