_{*Quick Summary: The author discusses a saying uttered to him by mistake, and how that affects his perception of his own life.*}

I had a conversation with the son of a very wealthy man once that changed my perspective on things a bit. We were discussing a coworker who was talking in the middle of a group of wealthy, powerful men, and the son said about the coworker, “He’s an outside dog.” When I asked what he meant, he looked confused and said, “You know. An outside dog. He’s an outside dog trying to be an inside dog, and he never will be.” He then had an immediate look of regret and said, “I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t need to know that term, but I guess I thought you already did.” It was as if I’d just been accidentally told a secret. 

Right then I got a bit of a glimpse “behind the curtain” of certain, but not all, wealthy families. Especially this young man’s family, as he was quite comfortable using the term. He considered himself an “inside dog”, and those with less pedigree, wealth, background, manners, style, and grace as “outside dogs”. The term has stuck with me ever since. 

Applying that term to people was quite offensive to me. The more I thought, the more disappointed I got. Being from a lower-middle class, blended family, and only having an 8th grade education, clearly, I’m an “outside dog” too. I had previously never thought of myself that way, but perhaps I should have? Especially if you’re the type of person that believes in social classes. It certainly helps to make certain things in my life make a bit more sense. Places I didn’t belong, and people I never felt comfortable around. So for that reason, and because I come from a long line of “outside dogs”, I’m proud of my “outside dog” status. Real or imagined. I’m also proud that at times in my life I’ve been able to pretend to be an “inside dog” when I’ve needed to. That doesn’t cause me to think I am one, or that the real “inside dogs” ever believed I was. I see now they always knew better. 

When it comes to actual dogs, my favorites have always been the formerly outside dogs we’ve brought inside and tried to teach the ways of the roofed, climate-controlled world. Sophia was an outside dog. Buddy was an outside dog. Amelia was an outside dog. Three of my all-time favorite doggie children, and they all adapted fairly well to inside life. And while we’re working on polishing the rough manners Amelia still has, I’m reminded of how well Sophia and Buddy eventually behaved inside. How they did their best to make it their home. At the same time, I’m also quite aware they never fully gave up many of those outside dog ways. They enjoyed their roughness. Their lack of grace. The bulky manner in which they navigated the world. It served them well in the world they were most comfortable in – outside. Now that doesn’t mean they didn’t also want to be inside. They were kept indoors, and all three of those doggies loved to snuggle on comfy places inside, but ultimately, it didn’t change the fact they were outside dogs living inside. 

I hope when you look at me, I carry myself at least as well in the human world as they did/do in the doggie world. After all, I’m an “outside dog” too. Pardon my mess.