...Opposable Thumbs...

I have come to the conclusion

that my dog is an atheist. 

Oh, I’ve suspected it 

for some time now, but

as opposed to us humans,

they really have no motivation

to debone dogmatic matters.

Hey, they’re dogs.

Number ten on their maxed-out

meter of shame amounts to

doing something bad on the carpet.

 

No. In truth,

the first eye-opener to my dog’s

metaphysical leanings

had to do with light switches.

“Light switches?” you say?

 

Okay. 

Relative to my dog,

I’m pretty smart, but

this is not to say my dog is stupid.

It’s just that I   have opposable thumbs,

and of course get all the

intelligence that goes with said thumbs.

For instance,

I can utilize said thumb 

to flick a light switch

and have a pretty good idea as to

what’s gonna happen when I do.

 

Me?    I’m sorta 

beyond being impressed,

but, the dog?

Well...    Let’s say 

I’m standing there in a dark room,

but can still see well enough to

tell that the dog has wandered in

and is standing mid-carpet, looking at me.

When I step to the light switch and throw it,

suddenly transforming this room 

into that awash with light,

what I expect from the dog is,

“Whoa! Hey!

What the...?

How did that hap...?

Did you do that?”

And yet...     nothing.

Business as usual.

A slight hint of a tail wag and 

   there nothing more.

 

I kinda figure that this moment

has been my chance to play deity

and bring forth unto dog...   light!

“Look dog.    Light.

Aaaand,    no light!”

Off. On. 

Off. On.

And all the dog does

is blink his eyes.

 

There is no miracle here.

This dog is not amazed.

Instead, I rather think

the dog is putting on airs that 

he knows something I don’t, 

and before too much 

canine vanity kicks in,

I give him a quick rebuke of,

“Oh yea buddy?

Well you don’t even have thumbs!”

And with that,

I throw the switch for the final time

and plunge his world into darkness.

 

When morning comes, I find him

sitting at the end of the bed

staring at me.

I roll out of bed,

open the window shade,

and am momentarily blinded

by the glare of the sun

upon far horizon.

Now, I know it is simply 

a matter of earth rotation that 

makes night transition to day.

There’s nothing special about it,

and yet... 

I would like to be amazed.

 

Right now, just at this moment,

I would like to see something special

from this shaft of light now 

streaming through the window.

Yes, as the dog and I

sit bathed in sunshine,

here on the edge of the bed,

it would say allot

if that glowing orb out there

would toggle off and on

a couple of times.

 

And yet it doesn’t.

All it does is slowly rise.

Rise and increase in intensity.

Indeed, it becomes so bright

that it causes the blink of my eyelids,

and during said moment of blink,

I acknowledge that the sun

has vanished and reappeared.

 

And the question remains:

did the sun covertly toggle

during those moments of blinking blind

or remain as steady as 

its heat upon my face?

 

And while this guy

with the opposable thumbs

sits waiting for divine response,

the dog jumps down

and there saunters off into the 

deep dark bowels of the house

in search of un-soiled carpet.

 

Ó05 Jack David Hubbell