The Dog-house Metaphor

You invested your whole life, everything you've done up to this point, into building a house. It is a divine space, with the most magnificent and joyous energy. There's an otherworldly harmony and balance between its shapes, form, color psychology, and environment. You know it's structurally sound and will last at least a hundred years. The nearby plants seem to thrive near this house. Nature itself seems to nod in respect.

One day, not long after the house is finished, a dog ambles its way onto the back deck. It lays down. And begins to howl this miserable, agonizing noise. It screeches and sobs and whines, driving all life away from the house. Nature seems to shy away from the place. Grass and plants around the house are dying.

You try to shoe it away but it ignores you and whines louder. It barely looks when you poke it with a broom. You yell and scream and holler. It gets up and shambles to another corner of the deck, slumping down with a great sigh. How dare this mutt come onto your deck, squat at your house, that took you so much time and effort to build on your own. Fuming, you tell it off and go inside.

You ask friends and family what to do with the dog. Some say adopt it, keep it. But it's filthy. And whiny. It just lays around all day. Others say to call animal control services. They can take it away by force. But you're not that mean. It's just.. this is your house. You built it from the ground up. If you wanted a dog, you would go out and get one. A rather callous family member tells you to kill it. You can't imagine killing a dog just for being annoying. You decide, instead, to try waiting it out.

A week goes by. You've tried your best to ignore it by turning up the volume of the tv. You bust three sets of headphones by maxing out the computer's sound. You try staying away from home, working late. But sure enough, it's still there whining and moaning on the deck when you get back to the house. This dog is driving you insane.

Just when you start to consider if you might have to call animal control, or kill it, a thought pops in. What if it's just hungry, or sick? It didn't look pregnant. Was it even female? Thoughts come flooding in the more you doubt yourself. You were determined to get rid of the dog. Now you're thinking, if you help it, it might leave sooner.

So you decide to wait a night. In case it leaves or passes away overnight. A few minutes before your alarm goes off in the morning, you wake up. And, as if the dog senses you're awake, it just screams and howls. You recall last night's inner debate. Fuck it, you think, it's worth a shot. So you grab a metal bowl and toss some leftovers in. On second thought, maybe a second bowl. You fill the second, smaller bowl with tap water.

When you open the door, it stops noising up the neighborhood long enough to regard you with a sideways glance. It's wondering what you're up to. You're standing there, pajamas on, door open, timer ticking down to get your ass in gear and leave for work. It's back to its whining. You wonder if you're going to regret this, later, and take the two bowls out. The dog looks at you and stops, and flops down with a whimper.

Oh, whatever, you think, annoyed at the thought of being late for work because of this mutt. You pick up the bowls and slap them down by the dog's head. And you glower at it, as if to say, that's all you're going to get. Off to work you go. You're late by eight minutes already, but if you hurry you might get there before the boss arrives.

On the drive back, you feel like you're forgetting something. But the day at work went a lot better than expected. People seemed to listen, and pay attention, and take heed of your advice. You wonder if it was the dog, but you're not that head-in-the-clouds. When you get back, you go for a light snack. And you happen to glance out the window, to the back deck. And you remember. It fills you with dread. But.. wait a minute.. the deck is clear. There's a small grease stain where the dog was, but even the bowls are gone.

Whatever, you think. And there's a scratching at the back door. There wasn't another person in the room, so you look in the window and give your reflection "the look." Sure enough, sitting with bowls licked clean beside it, is the dog. At the back door. It's not very subtle about asking to be let in. But what about your family? Someone was allergic, right? Hmm, did you even like that uncle? Or was it an aunt? The dog sees you seeing it and opens its maw.

Please, dear god, no more screeching, I can't fucking handle it, you think. So you yank the door open. And you glare at the dog. It waits patiently, as if it knows you have something to say. And you tell it off. You tell it it better not damn-well make that racket in the house or it's gone. It gives an odd, solemn nod, claims the bowls with its teeth, and frumpily crumples into a corner of the kitchen. It might as well have been a crinkled ball of paper. You refill its water and get to cooking dinner, wondering if this will end up like that Stephen King novel.

The rest of that week becomes weeks, and months. Seasons pass and the dog doesn't seem to age well. Nothing interesting or exciting happened at work since bringing the dog in, so it must've been coincidence. You think of getting some exercise, and catch yourself wondering if you should bring the dog. The two of you seem to have a routine and a familiarity. It waits until after you're done making food before it scouts for dropped morsels. You can tell when it needs a brushing, a shave, or just some water and a pat on the head.

You still don't like the dog, though. No matter how much you clean it, it still seems to smell like fish. When friends and family, or coworkers come over the odd time, no one compliments the house. No one seems to give a shit you built something so amazing even Nature once nodded its head. Everyone loves the dog, though. And that kind of gets to you.

Over a couple years with the dog, yeah, it's a confirmed thing. You're more recognized in your career and sometimes random people, a friend of a friend, will drop by. But they don't care about the house either. They're overjoyed with the dog. And that "kind of" becomes a "certainly," and grows into a silent hatred.

You worked your ass off to build this house. It's a shining example of craftsmanship, achievement, a concrete pillar of success standing as a beacon in the dark of the night. Everybody loves the dog, no one cares about your house. What do you do?