Many of my friends have a dog to keep them company. On Ibiza you meet the dogs before you meet their people. Every day I see bulldogs, poodles, hounds and the occasional Chihuahua. As for me, I have my man.
People don’t expect much of their dogs. I don’t expect much of my man. He is always happy to see me, and I don’t need a pooper-scooper when I take him out for a stroll. I have a leash in case of an emergency, but he doesn’t wander far. I trained him not to sniff people.
Did I mention that he does laundry and works in the garden? He talks a lot. But that is not nearly as annoying as barking. Occasionally he says something interesting. More often he just babbles, and his rambling makes me think of something brilliant.
When I share a new idea, he rejects it out of hand. A few days later he always comes up with a novel notion that sounds suspiciously like what I said. I point that out. He looks surprised, but he always gives me credit.
We are very different. He is old and I am young. He is tough and I am gentle. He is strong and I am sensitive. It is surprising how well our differences fit together.
Our tastes are simple. We love people, but they are hard on us. I have the oldest car on Ibiza, and he loves it like an old friend. We dress cheap and simple. By sharing household chores and eating oatmeal, we get by on very little. When you don’t want much it’s pretty easy to feel content.
By the way, we also created the world’s foremost university for free agent entrepreneurs. Our courses rock, and our fans love us dearly. Our books are popular. People never tire of telling us how we changed their lives. All that sort of fell out of us during our beach walks.
Some women think of trading their man. I would never do that. My true companion might only walk on two legs, but he has all the loyalty and devotion you would expect from a woman’s best friend.