Thursday, May 24, 2007

Doggone Crazy

We are crazy dog people. I never thought it would get this bad, but it has. Let me introduce you to the object of our affection.

He doesn’t know he’s a dog, and we do nothing to dispel that notion. He likes his bananas slightly firm but not too green and prefers cherry popsicles over grape, although, he’ll eat both. His dental care cost more than mine last year, and he wouldn’t know how to sleep on anything other than a king sized bed. He expects a liver treat on Mondays, a fake bone on Tuesdays and Thursdays and snarls his nose at but does not refuse the “low fat, good for your heart and coat” chew on Wednesdays. Like all miniature schnauzers he will eat anything that’s put in front of him. They are walking garbage disposals. It’s starting to show, too. The last time we were at the vet, they discreetly slid us a pamphlet for Weight Woofers.

I’m not sure how we got to this point. It started out simple enough. He lived indoors but wasn’t allowed on furniture. A few months later, he was sitting on the couch, sleeping on our bed and had a collar for every season. I knew we were in trouble the morning I awoke and found him laying next to me with his head on MY pillow, snoring like my grandma. He barely opened one brown eye, gave me a “what are you doing on my side of the bed” look and went back to sleep.

He’s one of several good dogs that have graced my life. There was my childhood pal, Puff, the collie-shepherd mix who came between mom and some punk low life who nosed around the yard one day while my dad was away. She was also the dog who prevented my toddler brother from working his way down the driveway and into the road. She was a good dog. We all cried when she died of old age, even dad. Our other childhood dog, Shannon, was a beautiful Irish Shepherd who didn’t have much sense, but gave us lots of entertainment. She was kind of the Jessica Simpson of the dog world, built well, nice to look at but not too bright. She eventually became arthritic and died in a dramatic Old Yeller-esque scene. Dad accidentally ran over her and had to shoot her because she faced a painfully slow and inevitable death in our driveway.

How can you not love a dog? Their unconditional love, companionship and playfulness make life’s ups and downs a little easier to take. They never let you down. They’re always glad to see you walk in the door, and they forgive your little indiscretions. They don’t care what you look like, they’ll keep you warm on a cold night and they ask for little in return. Everything you’d want in a family member. That’s why I won’t kick Jack out of our bed. In fact, that’s why he gets to share my pillow

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