September 28, 2004
little, yapping dogs
I'm a dog person. I don't like cats. But I ALSO don't like little, yapping dogs. Those stupid ankle-biting, noise-making little shits make me want to punt them like a football to see if I can make them spiral.
Recondo 32 put me in my place last Saturday when he said, "Smith, you know why you don't like little, yapping dogs? They remind you of YOU, you little yapping dog."
Maybe he has a point there.
I am not a big man. But I've always had a big mouth and a big ego. My daddy told me a long time ago that as long as my legs reached all the way to the ground, I was as tall as I needed to be. I believed what he told me and I've lived my life that way. I don't take a back-seat to some blustering gas-bag. I'm as good as anybody in this world and better than most.
Call that ego, or a little, yapping dog mentality if you want to, but that attitude has served me well through the years. I call it self-confidence, and I earned that shit the hard way, by doing what I had to do when I had to do it.
From football player, to editor of my high school newspaper, to barroom musician, to advertising copywriter, to a boss in a chemical plant, I always thought of myself as a Tall Dog, even if other people towered over me in size. "It ain't the size of the dog in the fight that counts. It's the size of the fight in the dog."
I always had a lot of fight in me. I'm not certain that I do anymore. I'm feeling kinda old and worn-out now.
Too many fights will do that to ya.
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