You walk in to Statistics 13 a disheveled mess. Your hair is in a frumpy knot, you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday and you barely remembered to bring something to write with. You sit down, and there it is — supreme comfort staring you straight in the face: an adorable, white poodle sleeping under the desk next to you.
As you put your things away, one thing is clear — this dog’s life is waaaay better than yours. Its tiny, plush bed taunts you. What’s that? Suede? When you pull out your bag of old, semi-white carrots to snack on, the dog’s owner opens a container of freshly cooked steak, cut into tiny bits. The smell permeates your nostrils, and your crunching becomes louder, more frustrated. The dog starts to wake up to the smell of food, but yawns and stretches gloriously, as if to say the entire world is built to fulfill its desires.
You struggle to pay attention to class lecture, as this poodle promptly devours a meal you would murder your mother for.
Thoughts start to flood your mind: “How dare he. How dare he think he’s better than me.”
Near the end of class, the anger begins to simmer down. You’ve found the right angle in your seat where none of your limbs will fall asleep and those carrots satisfy your physiological desire to bite the dog owner’s fingers off. Finally, you’re comfortable. The professor dismisses class for the day, and you see the person next to you reach for something. No way. This poodle gets to ride around bjorned, strapped to this guy’s chest. Like a baby kangaroo in a pouch filled with eucalyptus leaves, this dog’s got it all. You try to contain your jealousy, but all you can think of is dressing up in white wool and switching yourself out with this dog. To trade lives, even for a day. One can only dream.
Written by: Beck Nava — rnavamcclellan@ucdavis.edu
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)
