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By Meredith Besser

Larry and I were in the kitchen when our neighbor Sam arrived for dinner. He was greeted by miniature dachshunds Gracie and Buster.

Gracie jumped exuberantly on Sam’s leg, her round misshapen body flopping like a sack of new potatoes. She’s as petite as a bulldog, but doesn’t know it having clearly never gazed into a mirror.

Buster on the other hand is trim, exceptionally nervous and maturely gray — a former show dog who was not cut out for pageant life. He randomly barked at Sam’s shoe and then crawled back to his bed.

“I saw a TV program last night,” Sam said, sitting down for dinner. “They asserted that all dogs need to have jobs.” Sam is a bit hard of hearing. He works at home, writing paperback books full of limericks, mad libs and corny jokes.

Any information filtered through Sam is likely to come out appreciably altered. He’s convinced that everything they say on TV is true — even though believing what they say has gotten him into trouble many times over.

“That’s nice, Sam,” Larry said politely, serving the roast beef and broccoli.

“Dogs like to work. They need to work. That’s what they said on TV.”

Sam’s can sometimes be like a dog with a bone.

“What kind of jobs should they get?” I wondered out loud. I like to be agreeable.

“Gracie probably shouldn’t apply to the K-9 unit,” Larry said. “She naps all day, and that could be risky during a robbery or high-speed pursuit.”

“Buster has a good sense of smell, maybe he could sniff out disease — that’s almost like being a doctor,” I suggested.

“But he’s a hypochondriac — he’d probably come home thinking he caught some terrible malady,” Larry said.

“Gracie’s got charisma and she’s good at hamming it up, maybe she could be on TV.”

“She’s a bit of a prima donna and doesn’t take direction well — if I tell her to sit, she rolls over.”

“Besides, shouldn’t Gracie and Buster be consulted before getting them jobs?” Larry asked, tapping his foot.

“No, it’s up to you to get them jobs and then tell them, ‘This is your job’.” Sam wagged his finger while he spoke. “I see now why they say more European dogs have jobs — American dogs are perceived as lazy.

Sam has never lived with a dog.

“Are you saying Gracie and Buster are lazy?”

“I’m not blaming your dogs — it’s really the dog owners who are lazy.”

Larry dropped his fork. I stopped chewing. Gracie let out a fart.

Sam should have waited until after dessert to say that. You don’t tell dog owners that they’re lazy and expect a slice of banana cream pie.

They should have warned him.

Larry gave Sam the side eye. Then he said, “Gracie, Buster — I’ve got a job for you — show Sam out.”

Gracie mounted Sam’s leg as Buster peed on his loafers.

“Goodbye, Sam,” Larry said, closing the door behind him as Sam stared at his soggy shoes and limped away.

“Good job!” I told Gracie and Buster, handing them each a peanut butter biscuit as they crawled back into their respective beds.

They’ll probably dream of leftover roast beef and gravy. This will consume most of their free time.

As we enjoyed our banana cream pie, Gracie slept quietly on her back with a slight smile on her face while Buster snored and twitched.

Clearly, some dogs just aren’t suited for conventional jobs.

— Meredith Besser

Meredith Besser is an essayist and playwright. Her humorous essay Larry and Me received an honorable mention in the 2020 Erma Bombeck Writing Competition. Other essays have appeared in New Monologues for Women by Women, Literature: The Human Experience and The LA Times, among others. She was a resident playwright in Skylight Theatre’s PlayLab, and her short play, In Session, was live-streamed by Skylight last fall. She doesn’t judge a dog by their job — or lack therof.