To Write, or Not To Write

My beloved sis tells me that I need to get my hiney in gear and write.  She even goes so far as to give me an assignment to write a paragraph about something…then suggests I write about what Susie (my dog) means to me.
Actually, I’m not sure if Susie belongs to me, or if I belong to her.  It seems we differ on that assessment of our relationship more often than we agree.  Yes, it’s true that I buy the expensive Science Diet whatever dog food, at the recommendation of the equally expensive Veterinarian, and that the change in diet has brought back some of the energy and sparkle that once were hers in abundance.  Yes, it’s true that I provide shelter from the rain, warmth from the cold, and therapy in the form of rubbing and petting.  And, yes, it’s true that I provide her with everything she needs, including a doggie heating pad on the couch, and a perch on the back of the couch to look out our front window.
However, she would readily tell you that the perch on the back of the couch isn’t just a luxury.  It’s absolutely critical for her to be able to tell me when the mail comes, when someone walks in front of the house, or when the squirrels are feeding on the front lawn.  She’ll tell you that the shelter that I provide is only in return for her eternal vigilance and adeptness at keeping away all manner of vermin (both human and animal) that may want to invade.  She’ll also tell you that although her diet is expensive, it’s no more than fair given all the energy she expends to mark “our” territory and keep me in shape by playing ball with me from time to time.
So, while it’s generally true from the human perspective that man owns dog, when looked at from all angles, the black and white rapidly fades into foggy shades of gray and the normal muddle-headedness of my mind is only exacerbated by the thought of writing about “my” dog.