About Having a Dog

2004-02-08 at 12:40 p.m.

There are inevitable comparisons, of course. Jupiter was a singular dog, but so is Matilda. They're about the same size--if anything Matilda's maybe five, ten pounds lighter--but Jupiter was constitutionally unable to share a couch or bed with anyone. Ask my sister--he'd start out all compact, but then he'd shift, stretch, and yawn--and suddenly he'd be taking up the entire couch except for the furthest four inches to which you, the human, were now banished. Matilda, though, is a compact curler, who snuggles in and if anything wants to be on your lap. (Being nearly 70 pounds, though, we tend to discourage this.)

Jupiter was a Farter. Pfffffff, and the room would clear. Thankfully, Matilda, not so much.

Jupiter was also no guard dog. If he could have, he'd greet a burglar with an offer to go rent the U-Haul to pack up our apartment. Matilda, however, has a very full, very threatening growl-bark routine that applies to anyone daring enough to step near. This is useful for the Jehovah's Witnesses, not so useful for the mailman. She also has the most active hackles I've ever seen on a dog. I will never be taken unawares while she is near.

Not to say everything Matilda does is compared with The Jupe. She's got a personality all her own. She's a Morning Dog and is fairly certain every human is Morning Person (which is just fucking swell), but her greeting could make even me a Morning Person. She climbs up in bed, and leans her head into the crock of my neck, nuzzling as hard as she can, before settling into the curve of my body with a contented sigh.

She can't eat neatly from her bowl to save her life--she has to look around to see if you've done anything since she dipped her head into the bowl, spewing random kibbles in the process. She's excited every time to show you that she knows "Sit", "Shake", and "Lie Down". She does a little foot-stomping dance when she wants to go out. Stompstompstomp, tail wagging furiously, a pause to look in a hopeful manner into your eyes. Stompstompstomp. Pause. Stompstompstomp. It's super cute.

Having a dog around, again, though, I'm reminded of all the subtle details about Being a Dog Owner.

Bags turn up in every pocket. Pants, jackets, breast pockets. Grocery bags, bread bags, produce bags, newspaper bags. You always find them when you least want them--at work, at the bar, in the car.

Bedtime is strictly BYOB if you aren't first to bed. Husbands are under most of the blankets, dog on top of the rest. If you don't have your own blanket available, tough (and frozen) titties.

Returning home after work is a joyous occasion, on the order of a ticker tape parade. Clearly, you are the Most Important Person every in the world.

Butt cracks are infinitely interesting places to sniff, apparently whenever it is least expected.

Dogs shed. Even if they don't look like it, they are shedding everywhere, continually. If you don't dust often enough, the shed hair will congregate in the middle of your kitchen floor and demand democratic representation.

And finally, there is nothing more comforting in the world than to be curled up in bed with the light sound of rain with your husband asleep next to you and a dog curled up in the crook for your needs humming in her sleep.

3 people had something to say