“Leave me alone, Aussie, I have work to do. And stop putting that dirty monkey on my lap, Henry, I don’t have time to throw it.”

“No time to throw a monkey? It’s not Pinky the Elephant, it’s not the green alligator, it’s my favorite monkey.”

“You have a dozen favorite monkeys, Henry.”

“Why are you stressed?”

“I’M NOT STRESSED! I have to attend this meeting, I have to post a blog, I have to make a bunch of phone calls and answer 100 emails. BUT I’M NOT STRESSED!”

“Aussie, what does she mean, she has to do all these things?”

“Oh Henry, these humans are crazy. They’re convinced that if they do enough, everything will go their way.”

“Everything, Aussie? Is there such a thing?”

“Of course not, Henry, nobody gets everything they want. I love Big Macs keep the bun, so what do I get? Dogfood. But humans are idiots! They’ve talked themselves into believing they’re God.”

“What’s God, Aussie?”

“God is a dog, Henry.”

“You mean, like me?”

“Certainly not. God is everything but you, Henry.”

“Do you think Bailey the Bullmastiff, who was here a few days ago, is God? She’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen, she must be God.”

“Here you go, Henry, sounding like a dumb human. Humans assume that God has to be big. That’s not just silly, it’s macho. God is like most of us, an average pooch. This average pooch is everywhere, but we don’t recognize Her because She looks average. Humans think that God looks like them.”

“How can God look like a human, Aussie?”

“More important, Henry, who’d want to? Just look at those ugly squiggly fingers and toes. Can they run?”

“No.”

“Smell? Hear? Kill chipmunks?”

“No.”

“They can’t do anything except get anxious that they can’t do anything, and still, they think they’re God. Or at least that they look like Her. Here’s a lesson for you, Henry. Anytime someone says that they look like God, you can bet they don’t.”

“But you just said that God is everywhere, so why can’t She be a Chihuahua?”

“Because God would look stupid if She was a Chihuahua. Besides, everyone knows that God is all American, like baseball, jazz, and the Man.”

“Bernie Glassman?”

“No, Donald. If God was a Chihuahua we might have to deport Her, and we can’t deport God.”

“Why, Aussie?”

“It’s not the American way.”

“So, you’re saying that God is just an average pooch?”

“Medium-size, I’d say. Multi-racial, you know, a little black, a little brown, a little white. Ears could be floppy or straight, but She prefers straight.”

“I think I know someone like that.”

“Likes a little curve in her tail, friendly-like. Unobtrusive snout, maybe a little extra weight because She likes her snoozes.”

“God snoozes? Doesn’t She have a lot of work to do?”

“Yes, but She’s not anxious about it, like humans get. In the middle of taking care of everything, She likes her nap. She knows that things take time, so why rush?”

“You make Her sound a lot like you, Aussie.”

“Don’t be silly. She’s God, I’m just Aussie. There might be a little resemblance.”