Following up to today's blog post: evidence of sleeptime invasions!
Debbie's "Princess" pug Lucy is the ruler of this bed, as you can see here.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Because we love when our dogs invade our sleeping space...
Boundary No.1: The Bed
So, I'm in the process of moving back home for a while. Yes, I know I am too old for this, but hush you ugly voices in my head! And I am getting reacquainted with my old bed. Since I moved out after college, my parents have stripped my bedroom of all its childlike pink and green flowery print furniture and themes, replacing the comforter with a plain white down and my nightstand with a Victorian style navy blue lampstand. This new decor doesn't mesh well with the pea green wall paint. I'm moving a ton of stuff into the room right now. The closet's a mess of old clothes that need to be dropped off at the Good Will and new clothes that I can't find because the old clothes are in the way. And there are boxes of old albums and miscellaneous trinkets that I can't find the courage to toss out yet piled upon my old desk.
And in the middle of this mess, there's a dog crate. And I must say, most of the time, a very empty dog crate.
Since Linus has arrived at Dad's, I am pleased to report he has lost a couple pounds. Not pounds that he needed to lose, but pounds that he has shed along with his old way of life. He's gone from chilling at the apartment all day with evening walks to spending his days exhausting himself with two playmates in a backyard. So, in the past few weeks, my (constantly dirty) athlete has discovered he can spring like a little wind up toy onto my bed without permission or hesisitation. And from the look on his face, you can tell he's quite proud of this new development.
It never fails. I'll walk into my bathroom, brush my teeth, wash my face and moisturize. I'll turn the corner to head to bed, and someone else's mound of a head is lying on my pillow. Literally, on my pillow as much as it will fit. He's already snoring, even though his eyes are open, and staring right at me as if to say, "Oh, I'm sorry. Were YOU planning to sleep here?"
I am almost certain his body gets heavier when he lies on my bed. I have to peel him away from the sheets, without any of his help, and cradle him in my arms. Once, I have to literally roll him off the bed because I didn't have the energy to pick him up. And he refuses to help you remove him. When we get to the crate, which sits at the foot of the bed (close enough, right, buddy?), he gives me such an expression of disdain, I usually apologetically resituate him on top of the comforter. I am such a sucker.
A few nights I have let him stay on the bed all night, as long as he remains on top of the covers. Mind you, his snoring is so loud that only a mother's love would permit the noise. He's the biggest bed bully I've ever known - and my sister, Laura Marie, is a pretty tough one to beat. I've woken up at 3 a.m. dangling along the side of the bed to find my monster sprawled out as far as his compact little body will allow in the dead center of the bed. How he manages to do this is a midnight mystery that I may never uncover.
I am a sucker when it comes to bedtime for two reasons, mainly:
1. He's so darned cute when he's tired. Either he's a perfect picture of innocence, or he really knows how to act. And I don't know who taught him that skill (perhaps one of my Dad's dogs). But he's good at it.
2. Bedtime is the only time he really shows much interest in Mom. Lately, Linus has entered a macho stage of his adolescence - he thinks he's too good for Mommy. He will greet me with genuine affection, but he never wants to snuggle with me. Heartbreaking as this is, I am always reassured that he still loves me when I see he has snuck up to snuggle on my bed. He doesn't invade Dad's bed, Noah's bed or anyone else's bed ... just mine. And there's something endearing about his choice of sleep location. I can't help but think he chooses me because he knows who Mommy is.
So here's my ruling on Boundary No. 1: The bed is a place for human rest, not doggie rest. If your pet is climbing with confidence atop your bed and snuggling under your sheets, as mine is, he is undoubtedly showing signs of dominance that are too easilly confused with adorableness. But every so often, especially if you are dealing with a macho man like me, soak up all the love you can while it lasts. Because before you know it, the alarm will go off. He'll leap off the bed to the food bowl or the back door. And that peaceful time you get to share together will be gone.
And in the middle of this mess, there's a dog crate. And I must say, most of the time, a very empty dog crate.
Since Linus has arrived at Dad's, I am pleased to report he has lost a couple pounds. Not pounds that he needed to lose, but pounds that he has shed along with his old way of life. He's gone from chilling at the apartment all day with evening walks to spending his days exhausting himself with two playmates in a backyard. So, in the past few weeks, my (constantly dirty) athlete has discovered he can spring like a little wind up toy onto my bed without permission or hesisitation. And from the look on his face, you can tell he's quite proud of this new development.
It never fails. I'll walk into my bathroom, brush my teeth, wash my face and moisturize. I'll turn the corner to head to bed, and someone else's mound of a head is lying on my pillow. Literally, on my pillow as much as it will fit. He's already snoring, even though his eyes are open, and staring right at me as if to say, "Oh, I'm sorry. Were YOU planning to sleep here?"
I am almost certain his body gets heavier when he lies on my bed. I have to peel him away from the sheets, without any of his help, and cradle him in my arms. Once, I have to literally roll him off the bed because I didn't have the energy to pick him up. And he refuses to help you remove him. When we get to the crate, which sits at the foot of the bed (close enough, right, buddy?), he gives me such an expression of disdain, I usually apologetically resituate him on top of the comforter. I am such a sucker.
A few nights I have let him stay on the bed all night, as long as he remains on top of the covers. Mind you, his snoring is so loud that only a mother's love would permit the noise. He's the biggest bed bully I've ever known - and my sister, Laura Marie, is a pretty tough one to beat. I've woken up at 3 a.m. dangling along the side of the bed to find my monster sprawled out as far as his compact little body will allow in the dead center of the bed. How he manages to do this is a midnight mystery that I may never uncover.
I am a sucker when it comes to bedtime for two reasons, mainly:
1. He's so darned cute when he's tired. Either he's a perfect picture of innocence, or he really knows how to act. And I don't know who taught him that skill (perhaps one of my Dad's dogs). But he's good at it.
2. Bedtime is the only time he really shows much interest in Mom. Lately, Linus has entered a macho stage of his adolescence - he thinks he's too good for Mommy. He will greet me with genuine affection, but he never wants to snuggle with me. Heartbreaking as this is, I am always reassured that he still loves me when I see he has snuck up to snuggle on my bed. He doesn't invade Dad's bed, Noah's bed or anyone else's bed ... just mine. And there's something endearing about his choice of sleep location. I can't help but think he chooses me because he knows who Mommy is.
So here's my ruling on Boundary No. 1: The bed is a place for human rest, not doggie rest. If your pet is climbing with confidence atop your bed and snuggling under your sheets, as mine is, he is undoubtedly showing signs of dominance that are too easilly confused with adorableness. But every so often, especially if you are dealing with a macho man like me, soak up all the love you can while it lasts. Because before you know it, the alarm will go off. He'll leap off the bed to the food bowl or the back door. And that peaceful time you get to share together will be gone.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Household boundaries: When sanitary means sanity
I have a steadfast theory on bathrooms: there are two things that don't belong in this very private space. Item No. 1 is food. This rule was reinforced while I was living with my sister. I nearly had a fit of disgust every time I saw a plate... yes, I kid you not... a plate decorated with little crumbs and smears of ketchup situated on the sink of my sister's bathroom. Simply stated, where things come out, things don't need to be coming in. It's a rule of thumb that just makes sense. There are specific rooms where eating is acceptable in the home - the area where your toilet resides is not one of those rooms.
Thing No. 2, and the subject of this blog, is animals. Call me crazy, but if I see a fly in a bathroom, that fly is destined for a swift death - or I'm not in there. It creeps me out to no end when an animal is around when I shower. Our most loyal dog Ellie will sneak in and lie on the bathmat while I'm showering, which I used to think was a weird mix of endearing and creepy. Now it's just gross and creepy.
Below: Do you really belong there, or is Mom letting you get away with it?
Animals, even the ones we love the most, are not the best models for personal hygiene. If their feet have been in dirty places, they are dragging dirt and germs into spaces where you are meant to get yourself clean for the day. Linus drops drool, sheds hair and carries along whatever germs he's picked up from the outside wherever her roams. He doesn't wash his hands or carry antibacterial soap, although, wouldn't it be nice if he did?
Now, generally, I am a pretty lax pet owner when it comes to pets in my spaces. Our pack currently has reign to jump on the couch, go to the basement and even cuddle on the beds for short periods (that's excluding Dad's bed). I'm not worried about kisses on faces or paws pattering through the kitchen. If I lived so uptight that I couldn't allow my dog to enjoy the space we share, then he wouldn't be a true member of the family.
With that said, I am fully aware that dogs should have boundaries in the household. It's something, now that we have a new living space, I need to consider to keep the human side of our family happy. We had a rude awakening after we hired a cleaning lady to thoroughy sweep our hunter green living room carpet last week. That very afternoon, Linus jovially entered and romped like a rolling pin across the carpet. As cute as this was, I dreaded being a witness as he painted the carpet with bits of creamy hair. Further strife ensued when all three dogs bombarded the kitchen to get a shot at some drippings as I loaded dishwasher. Dad has ZERO TOLERANCE for this: he kicks, yells and shoos them out of there. I'm beginning to be convinced, new boundaries need to be set for those spaces where our animals become nuances.
For sanity and my sanitary reasons, I am going to do a series of blogs on how to monitor your dog's boundaries in the home. My first question to readers is: Where, in your home, is off limits to your dog? Where do dogs NOT belong?
Thing No. 2, and the subject of this blog, is animals. Call me crazy, but if I see a fly in a bathroom, that fly is destined for a swift death - or I'm not in there. It creeps me out to no end when an animal is around when I shower. Our most loyal dog Ellie will sneak in and lie on the bathmat while I'm showering, which I used to think was a weird mix of endearing and creepy. Now it's just gross and creepy.
Below: Do you really belong there, or is Mom letting you get away with it?
Now, generally, I am a pretty lax pet owner when it comes to pets in my spaces. Our pack currently has reign to jump on the couch, go to the basement and even cuddle on the beds for short periods (that's excluding Dad's bed). I'm not worried about kisses on faces or paws pattering through the kitchen. If I lived so uptight that I couldn't allow my dog to enjoy the space we share, then he wouldn't be a true member of the family.
With that said, I am fully aware that dogs should have boundaries in the household. It's something, now that we have a new living space, I need to consider to keep the human side of our family happy. We had a rude awakening after we hired a cleaning lady to thoroughy sweep our hunter green living room carpet last week. That very afternoon, Linus jovially entered and romped like a rolling pin across the carpet. As cute as this was, I dreaded being a witness as he painted the carpet with bits of creamy hair. Further strife ensued when all three dogs bombarded the kitchen to get a shot at some drippings as I loaded dishwasher. Dad has ZERO TOLERANCE for this: he kicks, yells and shoos them out of there. I'm beginning to be convinced, new boundaries need to be set for those spaces where our animals become nuances.
For sanity and my sanitary reasons, I am going to do a series of blogs on how to monitor your dog's boundaries in the home. My first question to readers is: Where, in your home, is off limits to your dog? Where do dogs NOT belong?
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Fixing my birthday blunder
Since I dropped the ball planning a doggie party for Linus' June 10 birthday, I planned a full day of activities for us on Saturday. Here's a few snippets from our outting. Mother and dog had a great day together shopping, walking, playing and, of course, eating!
First, we hit a hot spot for all of Lexington's doggie socialites, the Farmer's Market downtown. Below, we are browsing around, making friends and hunting for some local fare.
Our next stop on the birthday to-do list was the nearby Bluegrass Barkery where we shopped for presents. Our friend Jodi and other doggie product experts at the Barkery advised us on a toy, a chewie and ample treats for Linus' birthday dinner. Linus was mostly interested in Jodi and her generous giving of tasty treats. While we were there, we also picked up the oh-so-important birthday cake (above).
After all that shopping, Mommy was hankering her own sweet treat. We walked past Woodland Park and made a stop for water, a sandwich and a cup of pistachio gelato at the doggie-friendly new joint, 6 Friends. Their patio is the perfect summer spot for enjoying a delicious bite with friends and pups (patio-only). Below, we take a breather from all that walking.
We got home in time to start dinner and wrap the presents Linus (sorta) picked out at the Barkery. After my Dad, my brother and I enjoyed steaks and homemade potato salad made from locally grown new potatoes I found at the Farmer's Market, we invited Linus to the table.
As you can see (above) Linus was the man of honor, eager to gobble up his cake all on his own. But we had to encourage him to mind his manners and share with his guests (below).
After we sang "Happy Birthday," cake was distributed to the dogs, and Uncle Noah helped Linus open his presents. He received a sampler of rabbit food, a new cooling bandanna (which you see him wearing), a beef chewie, and a wool rope, as well as an assortment of Barkery treats to share.
And there was no messing around when it came to that cake. He couldn't get it down fast enough!
Happy Birthday, Linus!
Friday, June 11, 2010
When Mommy (sorta) forgets your birthday
A year ago yesterday, a litter of honey-coated, wrinkle-faced, squinting puppies the size of your palm debuted to this world. Eight weeks later, one of those puppies literally wiggled his way into my world. And since, he has been a cheery spirit and delightful distraction through many challenges, decisions and tragedies my family has encountered in the past year.
But yesterday, of all the days in the year, I failed to show the little guy how special he is to me. No presents. No cake. Not even a walk around the block marked Linus' first year of life. I fretted on the couch with Linus last night after I finally got home from all my weekly obligations, apologizing profusely and promising, like any guilty mother, that we would celebrate this weekend. He chewed on his rope and seemed to glare over at me, as to to say, "whatever, Mom." My brother had to remind me: "He doesn't actually know it's his birthday."
I know I have been spilling a lot about how chaotic Doggie Mommy life can be, but let's face it, it's time to Mommy-up to these responsibilities. I say we're going to go to the dog park, we should go to the dog park. I say we're going to go buy some treats at the Barkery, we should buy them. I say I am going to stick with the healthier food for Linus and not settle for the cheap stuff, we should stick with the diet. I say I'm going to plan a big birthday party with pools, and hats and doggie birthday cake, that should be so as well. But I didn't do it. And that's what good Mommies do, they "Mommy-up" to their responsibilities.
Amid my failure, yesterday I remembered my own childhood birthday parties, complete with pony rides, waterslides and rented out party facilities. And a real Mommy, who despite all her obligations and distractions, was able to make me feel like I was riding along on a shooting star the entire day. Princess, mermaid, equestrian or rockstar... whatever I wanted to be, I was that day.
So, again, I realize Linus is not a child, he is a dog. And that if he could pick his day, he would probably spend it salivating under my Dad's feet while he's cooking bacon on Saturday mornings. But I am baffled at all you real Mommies out there who can make it up the ladder in your career, serve on your Girl Scout committees, host Bible studies in your homes, pack healthy lunches and make warm dinners before 7 p.m., workout at the gym every day and still have time to plan a dazzling birthday extravanganza for your child. That's nothing less that magical to me.
Fortunately, I have a some time to uncover your secrets in preparation for my own human children. Until then, I'll practice being the best Mommy I can to a "child" who won't burst into tears if I forget to throw a bash on his birthday. Rather than fret, I'll focus on what I can do next year. There's always Birthday #2.
I know I have been spilling a lot about how chaotic Doggie Mommy life can be, but let's face it, it's time to Mommy-up to these responsibilities. I say we're going to go to the dog park, we should go to the dog park. I say we're going to go buy some treats at the Barkery, we should buy them. I say I am going to stick with the healthier food for Linus and not settle for the cheap stuff, we should stick with the diet. I say I'm going to plan a big birthday party with pools, and hats and doggie birthday cake, that should be so as well. But I didn't do it. And that's what good Mommies do, they "Mommy-up" to their responsibilities.
Amid my failure, yesterday I remembered my own childhood birthday parties, complete with pony rides, waterslides and rented out party facilities. And a real Mommy, who despite all her obligations and distractions, was able to make me feel like I was riding along on a shooting star the entire day. Princess, mermaid, equestrian or rockstar... whatever I wanted to be, I was that day.
So, again, I realize Linus is not a child, he is a dog. And that if he could pick his day, he would probably spend it salivating under my Dad's feet while he's cooking bacon on Saturday mornings. But I am baffled at all you real Mommies out there who can make it up the ladder in your career, serve on your Girl Scout committees, host Bible studies in your homes, pack healthy lunches and make warm dinners before 7 p.m., workout at the gym every day and still have time to plan a dazzling birthday extravanganza for your child. That's nothing less that magical to me.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Panic attack at the wedding...
I woke up at 6 a.m. on the Saturday morning of Hannah's wedding and rolled over to check the time on the alarm clock. I was 4 a.m. Two more hours.
The next time I woke up it was to the shuffling feet of someone way too chipper ... the bride. I mumbled, only half awake:
"Hannah... I decided at 6:22 a.m. that I can no longer participate in your wedding. I am sorry."
It was 6:23 a.m., and I was running late.
She choked out a forced laugh, which indicated she wasn't too amused with my dry jokes this morning, then prompted me out of bed to get ready for the wedding. Time was a'ticking.
The wedding day fell into place perfectly. Hannah was a flawless bride who beamed in the morning light as she was united with her Ben. No, Linus was not included in the wedding ceremony. The arguments against his appointment to ring bearer ranged from "he could pass gas and make everyone sick" to "he'll creep everyone out." Fortunately, I can now admit that including Linus would have caused my stress level to rise, therefore, ultimately not being worth all the trouble and worry in the end. As cute as he may have looked in that little tux, I was dealing with enough on my mind that day already. I hate to disappoint our supporters, and thanks to everyone who pushed for his participation!
In the haste of adjusting my hair and tying my sash, the one thing I forgot to do did, in fact, impact Linus. With the chaos of adjusting the hair, finding my sash and getting a water bottle for the bride in the final moments at home, I forgot to ask someone to make sure Linus was in his cage. I ran out the garage door to make it in time for photos, and left him outside in the backyard.
Normally, I would not have freaked out about this. But Saturday's temperatures rose above 80 degrees with unbearable humidity. All the guests at the wedding were sweating down their backs waiting for the recessional. It wasn't until after the bouquet toss that I began to find my family members one by one and ask with hope that someone had remembered to put Linus in his crate. Panic struck when I realized he was outside.
Anyone who knows about bulldog health is aware that the breeds don't stand heat very well. I've heard horror stories about dogs being found suffering from severe heat exhaustion on airplanes and in back yards. I've heard a trainer say that English bulldogs will drop dead within minutes above 80 degrees (although I don't think this is entirely true, but still worth keeping in mind). During the reception, these thoughts crossed my mind. How terrible, I thought, if I lose my beloved dog on my sister's wedding day?
I couldn't leave the reception, this was my sister's big moment. And after she left, she would be gone to Florida then Colorado for the foreseeable future. I asked family members, but they were hesitant to leave and care for Linus as well, hoping not to miss the big exit. The most unlikely heroes stepped up to rescue Linus... my cousins Ellen and Aubrey.
I have to give some background on Ellen's relationship with Linus: she's frankly one of the very few people who would rather not have a relationship with Linus. She's utterly disgusted and repelled by the snorts, the snot, the gas, the slobber and the sight of my bulldog. Once his untimely gas sent her into a tirade of complete intolerance. I don't blame her for hating his flaws, but never did I expect her to offer to rescue him.
Below: Ellen and Linus.
Ellen hurried to the house to find a exhausted, but alive, little Linus in the shade. I am ashamed to admit he had been in the sun for more than 6 hours, but he was doing fine and in good spirits. A forgetful mother's mistake that I will never make again! Predictably, Ellen found his water bowl was empty. She gave him some fresh water then put him inside in his kennel where it was cool.
I called Ellen from my brother's phone to learn he was still alive and breathing, and this put my heart at ease until it was time to bid Hannah and Ben farwell. At that time, a different kind of grief came over me: the grief of parting with my loving sister.
Congratulations, Hannah and Ben (two of my first, and most dedicated, bullblog fans)! Linus and I love you very much.
The next time I woke up it was to the shuffling feet of someone way too chipper ... the bride. I mumbled, only half awake:
"Hannah... I decided at 6:22 a.m. that I can no longer participate in your wedding. I am sorry."
It was 6:23 a.m., and I was running late.
She choked out a forced laugh, which indicated she wasn't too amused with my dry jokes this morning, then prompted me out of bed to get ready for the wedding. Time was a'ticking.
The wedding day fell into place perfectly. Hannah was a flawless bride who beamed in the morning light as she was united with her Ben. No, Linus was not included in the wedding ceremony. The arguments against his appointment to ring bearer ranged from "he could pass gas and make everyone sick" to "he'll creep everyone out." Fortunately, I can now admit that including Linus would have caused my stress level to rise, therefore, ultimately not being worth all the trouble and worry in the end. As cute as he may have looked in that little tux, I was dealing with enough on my mind that day already. I hate to disappoint our supporters, and thanks to everyone who pushed for his participation!
In the haste of adjusting my hair and tying my sash, the one thing I forgot to do did, in fact, impact Linus. With the chaos of adjusting the hair, finding my sash and getting a water bottle for the bride in the final moments at home, I forgot to ask someone to make sure Linus was in his cage. I ran out the garage door to make it in time for photos, and left him outside in the backyard.
Normally, I would not have freaked out about this. But Saturday's temperatures rose above 80 degrees with unbearable humidity. All the guests at the wedding were sweating down their backs waiting for the recessional. It wasn't until after the bouquet toss that I began to find my family members one by one and ask with hope that someone had remembered to put Linus in his crate. Panic struck when I realized he was outside.
Anyone who knows about bulldog health is aware that the breeds don't stand heat very well. I've heard horror stories about dogs being found suffering from severe heat exhaustion on airplanes and in back yards. I've heard a trainer say that English bulldogs will drop dead within minutes above 80 degrees (although I don't think this is entirely true, but still worth keeping in mind). During the reception, these thoughts crossed my mind. How terrible, I thought, if I lose my beloved dog on my sister's wedding day?
I couldn't leave the reception, this was my sister's big moment. And after she left, she would be gone to Florida then Colorado for the foreseeable future. I asked family members, but they were hesitant to leave and care for Linus as well, hoping not to miss the big exit. The most unlikely heroes stepped up to rescue Linus... my cousins Ellen and Aubrey.
I have to give some background on Ellen's relationship with Linus: she's frankly one of the very few people who would rather not have a relationship with Linus. She's utterly disgusted and repelled by the snorts, the snot, the gas, the slobber and the sight of my bulldog. Once his untimely gas sent her into a tirade of complete intolerance. I don't blame her for hating his flaws, but never did I expect her to offer to rescue him.
Below: Ellen and Linus.
Ellen hurried to the house to find a exhausted, but alive, little Linus in the shade. I am ashamed to admit he had been in the sun for more than 6 hours, but he was doing fine and in good spirits. A forgetful mother's mistake that I will never make again! Predictably, Ellen found his water bowl was empty. She gave him some fresh water then put him inside in his kennel where it was cool.
I called Ellen from my brother's phone to learn he was still alive and breathing, and this put my heart at ease until it was time to bid Hannah and Ben farwell. At that time, a different kind of grief came over me: the grief of parting with my loving sister.
Congratulations, Hannah and Ben (two of my first, and most dedicated, bullblog fans)! Linus and I love you very much.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Lessons in love
So, this is love?
Cleaning up your pee on my new green rug. Researching your dietary needs to make sure you don't have severe allergic reactions. Monitoring your daily exercise. Giving up my mid-week latte to save money for your new toys. Spending more money on your doggie sweatshirt than a sweatshirt for myself (five times its size). Giving up my lunch breaks to spend time with you. Waking up at 3 a.m. in a foot of snow to take you to the bathroom. Sacrificing my favorite pair of heels because of your annoying chewing habit. Resolving I'll never have a house free of pet hair. Planning my weekend around your walks and trips to the park. Teaching myself to sleep through your thundering snores. Unabashedly scraping your poop off the sidewalk in the presence of not-so-accepting humans.
Yes, if you have a dog, this is love. And according to pyschologist Suzanne B. Phillips, this type of love teaches us a lot about another kind of love: marriage. Pet owners often exhibit characteristics of "unconditional" love, accepting the faults of their pet while continuing to love them despite the trouble they cause. In Phillips' article on how pets can improve your relationships, she points out that pet owners often learn to greet, forgive, release grudges and accept the flaws of their pets, which may carry over to their relationships with a partner.
Although I'm not married and don't plan to be anytime soon, it's worthwhile taking note of the nature of my relationship with Linus. In past human relationships, I admittedly have been quick to judge and react negatively. If a boyfriend ruined my stuff or crossed me, it was absolutely his fault. When a long-term boyfriend picked me up for a date, let's just say my greetings have not always matched the extreme salutation I give Linus when he approaches me at the end of the day. With people you become comfortable with, it's easy to hold grudges,
lose interest and resist forgiveness.
I'll encourage all of my fellow obsessive dog owners to start looking at their spouse, partner or boyfriend more like their dog (if that makes sense). Strive to treat your human companion with the unconditional love he or she deserves. If he forgets to take the garbage out, maybe treat him as if the dog had an accident on the carpet. If he keeps you up with his snoring, maybe find it adorable and endearing rather than a wall between you and your slumber. If he steals the remote during Housewives, maybe be content cuddling and watching football for a while.
If he poops on your carpet... well, that's taking it too far. That may require some more serious counseling.
Cleaning up your pee on my new green rug. Researching your dietary needs to make sure you don't have severe allergic reactions. Monitoring your daily exercise. Giving up my mid-week latte to save money for your new toys. Spending more money on your doggie sweatshirt than a sweatshirt for myself (five times its size). Giving up my lunch breaks to spend time with you. Waking up at 3 a.m. in a foot of snow to take you to the bathroom. Sacrificing my favorite pair of heels because of your annoying chewing habit. Resolving I'll never have a house free of pet hair. Planning my weekend around your walks and trips to the park. Teaching myself to sleep through your thundering snores. Unabashedly scraping your poop off the sidewalk in the presence of not-so-accepting humans.
Although I'm not married and don't plan to be anytime soon, it's worthwhile taking note of the nature of my relationship with Linus. In past human relationships, I admittedly have been quick to judge and react negatively. If a boyfriend ruined my stuff or crossed me, it was absolutely his fault. When a long-term boyfriend picked me up for a date, let's just say my greetings have not always matched the extreme salutation I give Linus when he approaches me at the end of the day. With people you become comfortable with, it's easy to hold grudges,
lose interest and resist forgiveness.
I'll encourage all of my fellow obsessive dog owners to start looking at their spouse, partner or boyfriend more like their dog (if that makes sense). Strive to treat your human companion with the unconditional love he or she deserves. If he forgets to take the garbage out, maybe treat him as if the dog had an accident on the carpet. If he keeps you up with his snoring, maybe find it adorable and endearing rather than a wall between you and your slumber. If he steals the remote during Housewives, maybe be content cuddling and watching football for a while.
If he poops on your carpet... well, that's taking it too far. That may require some more serious counseling.
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