Dogs are better than people.

Lemme tell you why:

1) I'm at the mall getting my entire face threaded. The lady was nice enough (grrrr) to point out that I had "sideburn" - what I would refer to as cheek fuzz, actually, but whatever ... I let her talk me into doing my whole face. I came prepared this time: Motrin beforehand and iPod to drown out that rrrrrrriiiip sound as a whole lines of hair follicles were forcibly emptied of their bounty in a singular tug. Prepared or not, it still hurt like hell, as evidenced by the copious tears which sprang involuntarily to my eyes and my eyes themselves becoming so light-sensitive that I couldn't hold them open, even if my very life depended on it. I'd like to mention for the record that I'd hobbled around for several hours on a broken leg my parents insisted "was probably just sprained"... just to give you an idea of my pain tolerance. Anyway, as I was finishing up and dabbing those tears away with the tissue the nice hair-ripping lady had provided, a curious face appeared blurrily over mine. "Does it hurt?", asked the disembodied voice. I snorted that snort that I tend to snort when something is FUCKING OBVIOUS, and replied, "Uh, yeah! But I keep coming back, so that means the results must be worth it." At that point I was able to open my eyes and keep them reasonably slitted open... just in time to see a tweenager double-timing it away from the threading booth and her mother, owner of the nosy disembodied voice, screaming at her to "GET BACK OVER HERE, NOW!" She took a second to glare back at my reddened, hairless face and spat, "You were supposed to say it doesn't hurt." Having said her piece, she turned on her heel and forcibly dragged her tweenager back to have her unibrow ripped out against her will.

Lesson: No dog would ever see the obvious in front of them, but still question it.
Case-in-point: I missed a step once while carrying the dogs' 52lb bag of food down to the kitchen. I went ass over teakettle, landing half a flight below on the kitchen floor, mercifully onto the bag of kibble - which split open like a ... well ... like a 52 bag of kibble that broke a fat chick's fall down the steps. Did the dogs stand over me and ask, "Did it hurt?" Heyyyulll no! They were, however, nice enough to step over - and not on - my broken body, as they scrambled to clean up the manna that apparently fell from the skies of doggy heaven.

2) I'm shopping for Father's Day cards and schwag for my sweetheart in the card/flowers section of my local grocery. I'm not usually reduced to the grocery store for such occasions, but I was on duty and had limited choices in the area. There's a lady behind us arguing with the employee who is apparently in charge of that department. She wants a $15 plant for $7.99, because, she argues, it was sitting right beside the other $7.99 plants. After 10 minutes of being relentlessly badgered, the employee told the lady fine, she'd give her that plant for $7.99. The lady then whips out another $15 plant, identical to the one in question: "Well, how about this one? This one was with the $7.99 plants, too." When the employee stood her ground and told her, "No, I will give you the one plant for $7.99. That is all I can do.", myself and another lady at the card display exchanged glances and smirks, silently cheering her on. To my utter surprise and disgust, this grown adult with her child in tow literally stomped her foot on the floor, scowled at the lady, then pooched out her lower lip like a baby who's about to full-out bawl. "Please please PLEASE, can I have this one for $7.99, too? Pleeeeease?"
Really.
At that point the other card-shopper shot me another wide-eyed "Oh hell no!" look, and I had to leave. I was sure either that woman was going to go straight to the "I'm not getting my way so I'm going to hold my breath" tactic, or the other card-browser and I were going to crack up and really cause her to suffer a psychotic break.

Lesson: Dogs only beg for good stuff. Like food and beer.
Most times, they won't beg, either. They'll just step over your broken ass and eat the spilled kibble off the floor.

3) We get dispatched to a car accident that sounds like it could be anything from serious to fatal. It takes us no more than 2 minutes to get there, yet when we arrive, the bystanders already have the guy covered in a tarp. One particularly excited bystander waved her arms in the classic "don't bother" crisscross as we approached. She announced to us no less than 5 times that she was a Nurse (with a capital N, because that's how she said it: "I'm a Nurse") and that she'd already checked the guy, and that he was definitely dead, and here was his wallet (because that's all we medics really want, is to paw through one's wallet, apparently). She seemed put off when I smiled and said, "Thank you", and started to pull the tarp back to check the patient. She reiterated her Nursehood and her assessment of the guy's obvious deadness to me and grew increasingly agitated when I wouldn't take the wallet from her outstretched hand. I smiled again and said, "I'm sure you understand, I have to assess him regardless, and I really don't need his wallet right this moment." (Picturing my patient care report on a fatality: "No assessment performed as a bystander I don't know from a can of paint repeatedly telling me she is a nurse said patient is good and dead.") She shoved the wallet at my partner and stomped off. "We're leaving." Well, thank God for small favors.
Yes, he was indeed dead. I had no doubts of that, but now I had concrete confirmation of it.

Lesson: Dogs know their place in the pack.
When I show up to a hospital, doctor's office, or nursing facility, I don't tell you how to do your job - no matter how badly I feel like doing so. Don't step out into my realm and try to tell me mine. I've worked many calls with bystanders who happened to be nurses and when everyone knows their place, it's a beautiful thing. If my patient codes in your hospital room, I'll ask what I can do to help and I'll do what I'm asked ... and if I can't help, I'll step out of the way. I expect the same deference when you're out in my world. It's been my experience that the people who are most vocal and adamant about their qualifications are the least qualified to help. The oral surgeon who claimed he was his father's primary care physician comes to mind.

Now, go home and hug your dog. They deserve it for putting up with all of our crap.