No more blues....

Blue and Some Other Dogs is a perfect example of how some people have that perfect picture of owning a pet. The narrator goes into detail about the certain kinds of dogs and how dogs are and I think he just has this picture perfect thinking of how it is going to be when he gets a dog. I think he loses track of what owning a dog really is. The narrator says, "If my less than objective interest in these violent matters is evident, I have the grace to be a bit ashamed of it, but not much" (206). He makes statements like this that make us believe he is owning a dog for the sake of having a good friend, but as you read on you get this feeling that he just owns a dog because he had one as a child and that is what he learned then. I fully disagree with the antics of the narrator not really taking care of the dogs. Is it really that coincidental that two of the dogs died by being run over? I believe when the narrator found out that the dogs were neither a "Good country dog" or a "country Nice dog" he pretty much just gave up on wanting anything to do with them and just let them run around wildly biting people and acting how wild dogs do.

Though as I read the end of the story I kind of got this glimpse of my life in the eyes (or words) of the narrator. He says, "I expect such intimate remembrance will last a good long while, for I waited the better part of a lifetime to own a decent dog, and finally had him, and now don't have him any more" (215). After reading this I couldn't help to think about when I had my dog and how when I had him he was the most perfect dog (to me) and I would never trade him for any other dog in this world. Though, when my dog Max died I couldn't bare to adopt another dog to replace him because at that moment no dog could replace him, but yet in the story the narrator replaced Blue right after he died. Maybe the narrator truely can't be left to dwell alone and really needs a companion even if he doesn't feel it is the right one?

It's interesting how the narrator talks about when he was young, that when he had a dog and it died that his family would just mourn the dogs with tears and than they would be "replaced quite soon by others very much like them in undisciplined worthlessness" (208). He carried this throughout his life and felt that it was ironic because he said he had grown up and moved pasted doing this and yet he still ended up doing it. But I guess I can't blame him because we all carry things we did in our childhood to our adulthood.