Ahh, ‘tis the month to celebrate all things Irish, the land of my people. After all, I have red hair, say “wee” a lot and love to have a good time. I even own a Dog Bar.
But, each year as St. Patrick’s Day rolls around, I can’t help but wonder …
What if I’m not Irish at all?
My thoughts raced at all the possibilities.
Maybe I’m an Aussie from Down Under. I bet the punchy kangaroo is a brother from another mother. After all, I kicked dad in the nether region so hard one time he sang soprano for three days. That was funny.
Or, maybe I’m Scandinavian, like mom. After all, I love me a good ole slab o’ salmon, and my crib just oozes hygge.
Or, maybe I’m German, since I’ve been called a Wiener schnitzel a time or two.
Or, wait, I have to be British, ‘cause I wear a smart dressing gown to bed and turn into a right curmudgeon if I don’t get my nightly spot o’ tea. ‘Ello gov’na.
OK, OK, I got carried away with all these what ifs. It was high time I found out the truth. So, the next day, dad sent some of my hair off to the lab. I could barely contain my excitement. Then, finally, an email arrived with the subject line, Teddy’s DNA Results.
As mom took her sweet time opening it, I once again pictured myself laughing rip-roariously with my fair-faced, freckled family in a quaint, little village nestled deep in the hillsides of ole Éire, Ireland. Yep, these results were going to confirm what I’ve suspected for years …
“Am I Irish, mom? Am I?”
After what felt like an eternity, she turned and said, “Teddy, I think you should sit down for this.”
Taking my paw in her hand, she said, “My dear sweet son, this may be hard for you to accept, but you are neither Irish, German, Italian nor Norwegian. You, my dear boy, are a dog.”
Stunned, I dropped to my knees and stared at mom in utter shock.
“Oh, Teddy, this is a good thing,” she reassured me. “You are what all humans aspire to be. You have no hate, bitterness or jealousy in your heart. You show humans how to love unconditionally, and you accept everyone for exactly who they are. You are the purest form of love, so stand proud because your DNA results prove what we’ve known all along — you’re 100% perfect.”
Sure, it may have taken me a while to embrace my new identity, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still play the part now and then. Wink, wink.
– Teddy the Spaz Man is a social media dog and not-so-humble Hallmark star living in downtown Woodstock. Facebook/Instagram: @teddythespazman.
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