This post was loosely based on my grandson’s dog, Dexter. Dexter is a Boston Terrier/rat terrier, mixed breed, that assumed the role of ruler of the other canine subjects in the household. I will be visiting Dexter, his owner, and others the next few days.
Dexter was the boss. Not because of business acumen, or people skills; certainly not because he ever wanted to be.
He became boss, because handlers and staff, convinced him that was the way things should be. If things went wrong, there was no one else to blame.
“Wolf fangs” bared when things didn’t go right. The offenders backed down. If they didn’t, staff intervened.
“Dexter, what a good manager you are,” They chorused. Everyone believed it–especially Dexter.
With a sigh, Dexter loosened his collar. Ego massages were so refreshing.
Allthenewsthatwasn’t news. Wasn’t that pitiful? Alone again on Saturday night.
Dexter, cared little what others thought of him. There was nothing left to prove.
He lay on his back, fancied himself running carefree through an open meadow.