Like many middle-class American families, mine grew up with a dog to complement our human household. Our first pet joined us in the late 80’s soon after moving to the outskirts of DC; an adorable Boston Terrier named Patty.
That energetic, ambitious young boy would not stay inside our unfenced yard, despite our reprimanding efforts. One fateful afternoon my neighborhood girlfriend knocked on the front door while my nightshift-working nurse mother slept upstairs. Sabrina pointed behind her, “Is that your dog?” I screamed a curse word then immediately retracted it with a more G-rated version, “SHOOT” – while sprinting down the steep front yard hill, to scoop up our beloved doggie lying on the ground, seemingly glued to red-covered pavement. My bloody murder yelp woke mother from her vampire-hours REM sleep and the rest gets a little blurry.
While my parents took over possession of Patty, I continued my sprint, but this time down the block. My brother closest in age to me, the technical “owner” of our dog, was at a friend’s house. I called for him from the sidewalk as he stuck his head out the window. When I told him what had happened, he thought I was kidding. After pleading with him over and over, he finally came downstairs and headed home. The last visual of that experience is of my Mom holding our deceased dog in a wrapped blanket while my father reversed out of the driveway headed to the vet.
We later buried our 4-legged family member in the backyard, and used a makeshift gravestone (slab of rock) to remember his legacy.
That experience from the eyes of a 9-year-old is seared into my memory.
Not too long later, we acquired another Boston, her name was Molly. She lived a long life full of love and became a cornerstone in our hearts. Just as people have quirks, so do canines. She would turn in complete circles, at least 8 times, before lying down in her miniature bed (I never could understand why she did that, but I guess it was the equivalent of us fluffing our pillows). She snored. She dreamed while asleep and made ticks and tremors during naps (I always wondered what her unconscious imagination & visions were about — my guess was an intense game of catch and/or playing with other dogs). When Mom wasn’t around, she rebelled and slept in the nook of our couch. She verbally greeted all of our home’s visitors at the door. As a rather small statured companion, she intellectually believed her height was much larger than her true low-level reality. She once ate an entire stick of butter and massive steak that was thawing while we attended church.
She didn’t care for the snow. She had a love/hate relationship with our next door neighbor’s devil dog. On a few occasions I used her as a scapegoat to sneak out at night during high school (by letting her out to “do her business” but when I opened the door to let her back in, I would not join). She was sweet as pie and showed unconditional affection. Out of character, but protective nonetheless, she nipped (broke skin) on the face of my prom date, just after he popped the question (I was mortified, but what do you expect when you get up close and personal in the grill of a dog who doesn’t know you?)
Old age brought many issues and once her quality of life was irreversibly and inevitably compromised, my parental units had to “put her down.” I was away at college when Molly’s time on earth came to an end, and remember how quiet and cold the house felt during my next several trips back during semester breaks. It is amazing how much a furry creature, that can’t even speak English, impacts and enriches our lives. Although it’s fascinating how owners spoil their pets like royalty, sometimes even better than their own offspring, there is just something about being treated the same – day in and day out – with a smile, with loyalty, and with unspoken love.
Ever since the trusty and reliable wagging tail left our permanent residence, I’ve never felt the same. A pivotal piece has been missing in my adult life – a pet. For more reasons than I have room to list, living conditions just haven’t been conducive to owning one. Refusing to crate for 8+ hours a day has always been the primary hurdle. But now that my career has taken a nosedive directly into the very industry that promotes the strengthening of human-pet relationships, I have access to incredible discounts on innovative, humane pet products, and am even allowed to have a +1 in my cubicle, the desire to have a dog is becoming, has become unbearable.
And no, I refuse to compromise with a cat. Period.
The infamous best of the best dog show, Westminster Kennel Club, is on day two of championship judging. Whereas I’m normally invested in dreadful, train-wreck reality TV episodes and mainstream primetime news magazine shows, the Animal Planet network has wiggled its way into MaryB’s evening lineup. My hope is that education and further exposure will help dilute my manic mood swings for a pup.
Picking a breed that will work for my interests, lifestyle, activity level and space constraints all factor into adoption decisions. Someone recently recommended I get a dog who likes to run, so I can incorporate my own running routine and not have to walk the dog separately. Sounds genius to me.
Here is what I do know:
- Pro: I would take another Boston in a heartbeat. Con: Unfortunately they’ve become very popular in the last several years, and I always seem to go against society trends.
- Pro: I love pit bulls. Con: I hate their stigmas and my human sidekick doesn’t care for them.
- Pro: I love big bodied Great Danes, Rottweilers, Boxers, Weimaraners, etc. Con: I don’t have adequate room for their XL circumference.
Providing a loving, comforting, safe space for a shelter-based buddy to become my new best friend is something I’ve wanted to get my paws on for a very long time. At over 30-years-old, I am still not anywhere near ready for the responsibility of bringing a little human into this world. Baby spit-ups and burping can wait, but drool and rawhide bones cannot.
