I know. It’s practically un-American, maybe even inhumane, to admit that I don’t particularly like Man’s Best Friend. It may mark me forever as someone who can’t appreciate unconditional love and loyalty, and who objects to having her crotch sniffed as a form of greeting.
I am not a fan of dogs. I am a fan of kids. Thus, I have 3 dogs: Missy – Kimber’s old dog that neighbor Ron tricked us into owning, Charley – Chad’s large Golden Retriever we own because Chad needed a friend and to work on responsibility, and Kirby – McKay’s little dog we own because although she too doesn’t like dogs, begged to own until we caved in.
I say these dogs belong to my kids, but they have elected me as their leader. Me! The woman who just confessed to not being a fan of dogs. The dogs at our house are more like “Velcro dogs”… no, not a real breed, a very real personality, than anything else.
Allow me to explain. Every morning when I wake up, there are two dogs snoozing next to me. And they’re not just next to me – they’re practically in bed with me. They get as close as is physically possible. I have to fight to get my feet to the floor.
When I finally “thaw out” enough to exit the bed (old age is setting in), they follow me to the bathroom and look me in the eye as I sit on the throne. I’m always thinking, “Hey, guys. I can do this without your help! I did it for years long before you came along!” If I manage to get the door shut before they get there, they lay on the door waiting for me to exit. One problem. I can’t get out of the bathroom.
If they are lucky, I let them out for their potty break. I don’t bother to feed them their breakfast, I want them to think they belong to the hand that feeds them. Lillian is usually the one who feeds all the dogs. Yet, they come and bark or scratch at me when the want food or to go out. Gah! Goyou’re your owners!
As I sit at to my work station, the computer, they settle in around me… close around me. Most of the time I can’t back up and spin around to leave. I have no where to put my feet. If I manage to get up for something, they’re right there with me.
They can be sound asleep and snoring, but let me try to sneak to the bathroom or to the kitchen for a drink or snack, and they’re immediately wide awake. They spring into action, jumping up to see what I’m up to. It’s amazing! They follow me step for step.
When we eat, the fur-kids are right there, watching every move we make. They’re ready to pounce on any morsel we might accidentally drop. It’s not like I feed them table scraps.
I stay home most of the time, and around the house, I usually wear jogging pants and a big tee shirt. If I decide to go out, the dogs know. They watch intently as I get dressed and put on my shoes. They know I’m about to leave them, and they don’t like it one bit. They follow me to the door every time I go, pleading with those big liquid brown eyes that I won’t leave them behind.
Now you see why I refer to guys as Velcro dogs. They’re always stuck to my side. I can’t get away!
At least my kids know I love them. And soon I will be saved. Lillian is quickly moving in as the favorite in the pack. One likes her best. Now I just need the other two dogs to follow her. I should teacher to be a dog whisperer or the dog Pied Piper. Then my problem would be solved.