The Men, the Boys, and One Dog

I was packing up my laptop in class a few days ago, when I overheard two students discussing their love of cats. Cats are soft. Cats are smart. Cats are just the cat’s meow.

That’s all fine and dandy, children. Love your animals. I resumed zipping up my bag, and then I heard one of them say, “Dogs are dumb. They’re just loyal.”

To which the other responded, “Exactly.”

Comments like this make me fume. Dogs are dumb, huh? How many seeing-eye cats do you know? How many cats are on the police force? Hey, did you ever hear the one about the airport drug-sniffing cat? Or the burglar that fled in terror from the tabby at the door?

It’s not that I hate cats. I don’t, though I did for years, after a particularly bad clawing incident when I was a kid. But, thanks to the love of a sweet kitten with Spina Bifida, I got over it. And just because I’ll never have a cat doesn’t mean I hate them, either. They make me sneeze.

But I love dogs. I truly love dogs. I always have, and I always will. I know some very smart dogs, too. I know a dog who goes down park slides by himself. I know a dog who knows over a dozen people by name. I know a dog who gives hugs and kisses when asked, and yet another dog who let his family know when someone was in trouble.

Craziest of all, I know this one dog who, as a tiny puppy, made a mountain of toys to climb so he could reach a coffee table laden with Chinese food.

Actually, that’s not a bunch of different dogs, but just one dog. Mine.

Growing up, I always wanted a dog. The parental units were against it, but I knew I’d get my pooch one day. Not when I lived in the dorms at my university; pets were forbidden. Not when I was in Journalism school either, I was just so busy. Certainly not during my internship in Europe; adjusting to life in a different country was enough to deal with at the time.

I’d been home from Europe for almost a year when it happened. I was in your standard pet store at the local mall buying some crickets for Oli’s lizard (that’s right, girlfriend’s got a lizard), when I saw a litter of four puppies in one of the windowed kennels near the door.

Pet stores are smart. Puppies are near the entrance for a reason. They were all adorable, as puppies usually are, and all doing very different things. Two were fighting tooth and nail. One was in the back eating poop. And the fourth, he was sitting all by himself right up against the glass, quietly watching the people walk by.

He was everything a puppy should be. Small, not much bigger than a guinea pig; big brown eyes, floppy ears and a stumpy tail. His fur was brown and black, and he had four white socks. He was half Schnauzer half Poodle, the store employee said, otherwise known as a Schnoodle, and all the rage in the new world of puppy hybrids.

I didn’t care about that. I was too busy staring at this little dog, and noticing him stare right back at me. For years, I’d heard canine owners say things like, “We didn’t choose our dog, our dog chose us.” Despite my love for animals I thought their claims sentimental, biased for love of their pets.

But then something happened at the pet store right that moment. I put one finger on the glass in front of the puppy; at the same time he put one paw up on the glass, too.

I felt a tug at my heart. And then, I bought him. Could you blame me?

It has been almost exactly four years since that day, and what years they have been. Bluetooth, known to everyone who loves him as Blue, has added a spice to our lives we never knew was missing. He was a quirky puppy, that one, housebreaking himself in three days, and finding his voice to bark at pigeons from standing on top of my desk to look out the window.

He was tiny too, weighing in at 3.6lbs the day he came home. I remember having to shuffle my feet around the apartment for the first few weeks instead of taking real steps, because I was scared to squash him.

It wasn’t hard to get attached to this dog, not when he lavished me with kisses every morning, ran sideways, or when his butt slid out from under him on the slippery parquet floor whenever we practiced “sit”. It wasn’t hard at all to become partial to a dog curling up on my pillow while I’d be sleeping on the couch, and rest his head on my neck. It was downright easy to adore a dog that licked my forehead when I cried, or growled at people who were rude to me. It was a given that I would be devoted to a dog who waited by the door every day for me to come home, or who never, ever left my side. Even as I type this, he’s sleeping next to me.

We all know we love our dogs, but often it takes something awful to let us know how much. Shortly before his first birthday, Blue ran across an icy street in front of a sliding minivan, and was hit.

Very luckily only one of his front legs was cut & bloodied up, but I’ll always remember that day as one of the most terrible of my life. Waiting in the emergency room at the vet’s, hearing him yelping when the stitches were being put in place, then taking him home, all bruised and doped up, where he just lay on the couch and slept for hours.

I was a wreck, crying, moping, going through packs of cigarettes just to numb myself, when I barely ever smoked to begin with. All I could think was, what if this had been serious? What if the wheel had gone over his leg? What if he was killed?

And then I thought, how did I give my heart away so easily? When did I fall head over heels in love with this animal?

Therein lies the curse of all our cats and dogs alike: unless you’re in your 90’s when they come home, if the natural order follows as it should, you’ll outlive your pet. It is my heartache and sadness, because whenever I picture myself an old lady, Blue is at my feet.

My dog has taught me many things, simple rules that I think would altogether make the world a better place:

1) A kiss good morning

2) A kiss goodnight

3) A hug a day makes the bad stuff go ‘way

4) Time spent together is the best time of all

5) Cherish your loved ones

Cat people have their opinions on dogs and that’s fine, but the love in a dog’s heart is magnificent to behold. Awhile back, I made a trip to the market down the street and took Blue with me. I tied his leash around a pole outside, went in to do some quick shopping, then back out to collect him and go home. When Blue saw me he did his customary bark and happy-wag, but he wasn’t alone. An elderly lady was standing next to him and with a big smile on her face said to me, “So you’re the one.”

I replied with a, “Sorry?” while she bent over a bit and pat Blue on the head.

“You’re the one, the love of his life. I’ve been standing here and watching your dog for the last few minutes. Every person that’s come out of those doors, he was hoping would have your face.”

When Blue and I got home I cried, stifled him with hugs, and decorated his kibble with some steak.

Blue, no matter what I do or how many times I try to read this to you, you’ll never understand what I’ve just written. It’s not your language, though I suspect you’d consider some tug-of-war playtime a considerable substitute. But if I could somehow make you understand, I would thank you for the incredible difference you’ve made in my life. No matter what, you’ve loved me simply for who I am. Not for what I do or how I look, but just for me. And in doing that, you have shown me what love is.

Any of us should be so lucky to love, or be loved, that much. Of course if my significant other liked carrying chew toys in his mouth I would completely freak out, but the basis is there.

You are my blessing, my sunshine, and my heart. The inevitable day will come when we must be parted, but I will treasure you always, I will miss you forever, and I will never forget what you've taught me.



(Note: Never ask how much Kleenex I went through while writing this)