I’m nothing but a big, fat liar. It’s pretty bad. It’s terrible.
Some people like to make themselves feel better by saying that everyone lies. Little white lies, they say, protect others. They don’t hurt them. You’d be hurting someone more if you didn’t tell them.
Of course I know better. I know that every single day I lie about the same thing. I don’t like doing it. But you know how liars are. Once we get started down that hill, we just snowball out of control.
Here’s how it goes. It gets to be nine, say, ten o’clock at night. I know that Roo would be better off going outside to pee. She, however, won’t go. She’s not the one thinking ahead, planning on having to wait until the morning. Not Rooki Kahoo. After all, didn’t she use to sleep 15 hours at a stretch without peeing? Of course she did. But now she’s a little older. It’s better for her to go out.
“Let’s go outside, Kahoo.”
She looks at me like I have two heads, neither of which is capable of making any sense.
“C’mon, Bearface. Let’s go.” I make some noise with her leash and collar.
She turns away and closes her eyes to remind me that she sleeps as luxuriously as an ocelot draped over the branch of a jungle tree.
“Rooki! Get up!”
That is her cue to cut me dead.
So whose fault is all the lying that’s about to go on, anyway? Don’t blame me! What else could you do with a dog like that? I’d like to see the priest who would give me more than a single Hail Mary for that sin. Get tried before the jury that would send me up for it.
Roo ignores me. Oh, and she’s good at rubbing it in, too.
“Listen, Roo. What if there’s a cat outside?” I tell her.
This gets an eyebrow up. It’s pretty hard to ignore a guy when he’s waving a cat at you.
“Maybe there’s a cat outside. Who knows.”
Roo has to admit that the logic of that is inarguable.
“I’m going to go check the cat.” What cat. If only she knew.
Roo starts thinking about getting up.
“But if there are any cats outside, Rooki, we’ll check them - but you can’t chase them.”
The fact that I’m already warning her not to chase the cat clinches the deal. She gets up. Fully expecting to see a cat out there. But it’s not like Mexico here, with cats running around making a racket under the streetlamps all hours of the night.
And tomorrow, around nine or ten at night, it’ll all start over again.
Just a little white lie. Is that so wrong?