Oh, The Career Choices That I Could Have Made…
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By Sweetie
Herald K-9
Correspondent
If you ask me, my human hit the jackpot when I came into her life. Seriously, where would she even be without me? Probably fallen into a well if you believe those Lassie re-runs. But sometimes, usually between belly rubs, treat negotiations, and barking at invisible things (because someone has to keep an eye on the air), I wonder about all the glittering careers that slipped through my paws.
Law enforcement, for instance. It’s in my blood, being a German Shepherd. I could’ve been a K-9 legend, sniffing out danger, chasing bad guys, and wearing a tactical vest like a four-legged action star. Instead, my skills are wasted solving cases like “Where are my shoes?” (Hint: Exactly where you kicked them off when you said, “I’m just going to sit down for five minutes.” And just as an FYI, that was two hours ago.)
Or journalism. I can see myself as a globe-trotting correspondent, uncovering international conspiracies, and maybe guest-hosting 60 Minutes between naps. I have a nose for news. And yes, I actually do write for the North Mississippi Herald. A regular column, thank you very much, all about the daily challenges of managing a human who honestly shouldn’t be left unsupervised with scissors. Or snacks.
Maybe I should have been a food critic. If picky eaters had fur and an attitude about lettuce, I’d have been a sensation. My palate is exquisite, and my reviews would have been brutal but fair: “Nice try with the flamed-kissed flamingo, artisanally roasted to pretentious perfection. But, I’d rather have chicken nuggets. Two paws down.” Instead, I dine nightly on what my human calls balanced nutrition and what I call compressed sadness pellets. She insists it’s good for me. Meanwhile, she sits there with a plate of homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes so buttery they should come with a cardiologist on standby. Life just isn’t fair.
And then there’s math. I could have been a world-class mathematician. Professor Sweetie, if you please. My skills are unparalleled. You give me one treat when I normally get two? I know. I always know. Arithmetic, statistics, advanced treat-theory – I’ve mastered them all. I can be in the backyard, hear the fridge opening and calculate the probability of cheese within 0.02 seconds.
I’m already a certified personal trainer. Without me, my human would have settled onto the couch like an old potato. Thanks to my dedicated efforts, she gets her daily steps in – usually in a frantic sprint to the door when I bark at absolutely nothing. Agility drills? Check. I plant myself underfoot so she can practice balance, reflexes, and creative language all at once.
A therapist? Please. I’d have a private practice and a six-month waitlist. No one listens better than I do – especially when snacks are involved. I’m patient, never judge (all right, I always judge, but I do it silently), and I offer unlimited snuggles. Just ask my human. Every time she ugly-cries over Casablanca, I’m right there with a paw on her hand and a look that says, “You’ve watched this 400 times. You knew Rick was gonna let Ilsa go.” And don’t even bring up Old Yeller. Some emotional traumas don’t need to be revisited. Ever.
The truth is, I could’ve been anything. But I chose this life. I keep my human alive, somewhat organized, and mostly sane. And while I don’t have medals or a TV show (yet), I do have a couch, my own fan to keep me cool while I nap, five beds (one generously shared with humans), and someone who thinks I’m the greatest thing since sliced bacon.
Honestly, we both hit the jackpot.
