The Dog of War

Well, the title is an exaggeration, but my relationship with B has suffered more conflict after Joe than pre-Joe.

A dog is another relationship, with it's own demands, discomforts and joys. As an unrepentant dog-lover it’s easier for me to simply accept all the changes that come with a dog in the house. I grew up with dogs, so I know that Joe is easy-as-pie, even as a puppy.

(Actually, in a fit of pique I had wished Joe was more difficult as it would make it easier to construct “Marley, the bad dog” narratives.)

That’s not our lot, though, if Joe were more well behaved he’d be an ottoman. Well, except for the excessive energy. But a run and an hour’s walk deal with that relatively well.

I love his dog smell, the active awareness in his speckled brown eyes, the softness of his fur and his devoted nature. When we leave for a few hours, he nudges open the bedroom door and retrieves the stinkiest piece of clothing he can find from each of us. Then gently carries and lays them in front of the door, and sleeps on them ‘til we come home. How can you not love that?? He doesn’t chew them to pieces, he just loves our dirty socks. It’s touching to be that well loved, in that ineffable dog way.

So, long story short he’s a source of conflict, but I would choose even the conflict as the price of ownership.