On Dogs and Companionship

Of the three requirements of a dog, this is the most difficult to fathom. This may be because companionship to me is less objective and more relational. It’s harder to quantify and justify. This of course is untrue for the dog. To my dog, companionship is being together, all the time, as closely as possible. There’s nothing simpler. If I go she goes. If I stay she stays and keeps a close watch on me to make sure I don’t sneak off without her.

I’m terrible about this. I don’t like being smothered in affection, much less slobbered with affection. I dislike having a dog under my feet all the time. It’s extremely inefficient. (There’s that angry man again.) She generally makes more work for me than she’s worth. In my defense, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being aloof and 10 being obsessed, my dog would range in at 11 or 12, right around psychotic stalker. So I’m dealing with an extreme canine here where a little bit of attention is never enough and neither is a lot. If she could crawl under your skin she would. In another life she may have been a tapeworm.

Here’s a great example. I’m sitting in my chair reading. It’s a slow Sunday and nice to be inside and warm with a good book. The dog walks in and puts her head on my leg. This is a common tactic and because I’m not completely cold hearted I pat her on the head and resume reading. Then I feel her paw on my leg. Normally I don’t allow this. I don’t need her walking on me. But in an inspired moment I decide to see how far she would go. If I completely ignore her – don’t say no but don’t encourage her either – how far would she take it. So I act as if she weren’t there and continue to read. Soon her other paw comes up. She thinks I don’t notice both her paws and her head on my leg so she creeps a little closer, weaseling her way up onto my lap. At this point I’m thinking, “Are you kidding me,” but I continue on oblivious to her actions. She inches her way up onto my belly till her whole upper body lies stretched on me. I read. Her back leg comes up, scrambles for a hold, then eases her full weight onto my lap moving like a slinky until she’s stretched out along my chest and her head is nestled alongside my neck and face. When she begins to snuffle about in my ear with her whiskers I can’t handle anymore and kick her off.

So you see what I’m dealing with. This may have something to do with Sara cuddling and coddling her excessively as a puppy but I’m not sure I’m qualified to make that diagnosis. Anyways, it doesn’t change much. I’m not going to let her roll around in my lap and lick my face while I call her oodle poodle gootchums and good little puppy poo. That just makes my stomach turn and I’ll argue, no matter the consequences or authoritative counter argument; it’s wrong. It’s wrong on many different levels the most obvious of which involves cat litter snacks and butt licking. Just saying.

But I also recognize my love of efficiency and how that squashes time with the mutt. So in response to that I’ve decided to make it a habit to take her with me whenever possible. Whether walking, working, driving, or wandering about the garage in thought, I’ll try and take her with me and I’ve been better about it. She may not be in my pocket but at least she’s with me and she loves that. I don’t know why, but it’s true to her nature and so I’m beholden to it.