What Colour is Newman's Parachute?

Newman told me this morning in broken English that he no longer desires to be the family pet.

He's tired of placating us, performing silly tricks and he has no privacy to bring home dog dates.

He wants to get a job. Eventually he sees himself getting a place of his own, preferably near the water because there are lots of off-leash parks there and plenty of, as he calls it, poodle-tang.

Newman is part poodle.

I said "fair enough." "I'll miss you, but I'm really proud of you."

So now I had to help Newman pick a career.

Proctologist popped into my head. This shouldn't be surprising. Newman has been sticking his nose in other people's butts since day one.

I suggested "Assman" on his dog tag. For marketing purposes.

Gynecologist is another possibility. He is well versed in the exploration of genitalia.

There are lots of benefits to Newman choosing this area. Women need only stand there while Newman performs his exam. No undignified lying on a cold metal table and inserting feet into medical stirrups.

The exam can also be performed at one's leisure at dinner parties or during Sunday brunch.

Newman went as far as to take the OB/GYN exam. That was a toughie, as I had to talk him through the entire process.

"No Newman, this is a person, she's not your bitch."

"I see that you brought your ball but you can't bury it in the hole. Not in this context, Newman."

"Yes, I realize you're the only one in the room that's fixed." "I know it's unfair, but we can't fix her. Not now, anyway."

"Newman, we went over this." "It's at these delicate times you cannot get an erection. Just think of Phyllis Diller."

"Newman, stop licking that." "I expressly told you…"

He failed the exam.

He could be a drug-sniffing dog at the airport but how boring is that? I suggested air traffic controller.

When I introduced Newman to the air traffic controller screen he kept trying to bite the little moving dots. No Newman. These are planes with people on them. Gentle, boy.

Since Newman has the pack animal instinct, he wanted to group all the planes together in a cozy bundle and land them all at once. The pilot monitoring the flight simulator test had never seen so many virtual deaths.

We both agreed that Newman was too rambunctious to be a seeing eye dog for the blind, unless people enjoy being dragged along the concrete at 10 kph.

Newman suggested being a hearing ear dog for the deaf. I was proud of him for quickly realizing the drawbacks of this as a career. When Newman hears a strange sound he barks frantically for 20 minutes, growls for 3 minutes and huffs and snorts for 30 seconds. Then back to sleep. Neither of us could figure out how this would help a deaf person.

I guess for now Newman's wisest career choice is to be my best friend.