Woman's Best Friend

They say that dogs often take on the personalities of their owners, and I have no reason to doubt that. Take the dog around the corner, the one with absolutely no impulse control and a nasty habit of eating any morsel of food left on a counter, no matter how gross. A virtual chip off the old blockhead who owns her (and I say that with the utmost respect and affection for both of them, just in case they decide to read this).

Manny has certainly acquired some of my personality traits. Like me, he sleeps on his side, with only one pillow. Like me, he can't resist a good nosh, and will bite the fingers off of anyone who tries to get between him and his snack. And, like me, he prefers superficial, hasty butt sniffs (his version of cocktail party conversation) to deep personal entanglements, and is always happy to exchange pleasantries as long as the encounter is brief.

What worries me, these days, is that owners might take on the personalities of their dogs. This occurred to me as I lay sprawled on one end of the couch the other night while Manny lay sprawled on the other, our toes touching as he nibbled on a bone and I shoveled in a few peanut butter Snickers bars (which, if you haven't tried them, are a must for your next shopping trip). The television blared in the background, but, for me as much as for him, it was just white noise, inoffensive accompaniment to the real joys at the tips of our tongues. I won't admit to passing as much gas as he did, but I'm sure he'd point an accusing paw in my direction if asked. Frighteningly, we both stretched and shifted positions at the same time. Woof, he whispered. Oy, I whispered back.

Needless to say, when the orthopedist suggested I take prednizone for a week to help ease my lower back pain, I was horrified. "Thanks, but I'll pass," I told him. He seemed puzzled. Recalling Manny's brief experience with the same drug, I explained that I was not willing to suffer the humiliation that goes along with peeing and pooping all over the house and doubling my body weight within a week. Hmm. He still seemed puzzled. And he went to medical school and everything.

Sure, I know someone rational might tell me I'm not a dog, and my reaction to prednizone would not necessarily be the same as Manny's was. But the way things have been going lately, I'm taking no chances. A doctor friend assured me that the worst thing that would happen to me from the steroids would be a poorly timed surge in energy that would have me cleaning the house in the middle of the night. Frankly, that sounds even worse than peeing and pooping all over the place and getting fat.

My back still hurts, but no meds for this chick. I'm just going to join Manny on the floor for a little nap.