my dog has depression, can’t drag itself out of bed; it lays in the kitchen and looks out the window, wondering, worrying, whining about the light - about the window and the view; it never has anything much to say, or if it does, it doesn’t amount to much, anyway; but it’s okay, it’s just my dog - it’s not me, anyway; my dog has blue eyes - wish they were brown; all my friends have brown, and they all seem happy; my dog can’t walk straight; it’s loud, it’s annoying, sometimes it smells; my dog, my dog, my dog, I tell you about my dog; sometimes I think, it’s more important than me, I mean - I’m not my dog, anyway; I’m not as interesting; I can’t come and say hello and all those things that make you people smile and giggle and laugh; and when there’s a pause - a really awkward pause - I can’t look at you and have all that - your - worry just disappear, like that; I once screamed and howled and danced at the moon, and my dog just - stared; but does it really matter - my dog was on a comfy bed, and the way it sat; the same place where it sleeps - I tell you about my dog, I tell you about my dog; I tell you about it all the time, for