In honour of my dog's 9th birthday, and yes I am one of those people who celebrate their canine's birthday, I thought I would tell you about why I think everyone should have a pet. Especially if that pet might be a dog.
I found my dog when she was begging for food with her brother outside my apartment door when I was working in Rio de Janiero. Stray animals are everywhere in Latin America, but eventually I couldn't stop myself and I fed her. The reason why I didn't want to feed her was because I knew I would be leaving in a few weeks and I didn't think I could take a 5 week old puppy with me as I trekked through the Amazonian rainforest.
Still I made it work and three months later she was standing in my apartment in the Back Bay looking up at me while simultaneously peeing on the floor, but she looked really unhappy to be doing it. I carried her, mid-pee, out the back door and set her down in the garden. From that day forward she was housetrained. We moved to New York.
I thought it'd be smooth sailing from then on because she was obviously a very smart dog, but the smarter the dog the more trouble they can get into. One day I arrived home to carnage. My loft was 2 floors, one of which was covered in tiny little white feathers (she destroyed my feather duvet) and on the second floor were about 20 single shoes she'd chewed up (she never ate them in paris). I of course had a melt-down. I thought the feathers were sort of hilarious, but no one fucks with a woman's shoes. 20 pairs of designer high heels gone. I went nuclear.
I put her on her leash and dragged her out to my car (which I still had at that time because I was a dumbass who thought owning a car was a sensible thing to do in New York City). I was going to bring her to the pound. I couldn't take the chewing through the wall, destroying everything I owned, and the lifestyle change owning a dog had forced upon me. I was going to bring her to the pound and get on with my life as normally scheduled.
I sat in the car for an hour without even starting it and then took her back into the house. The next day nothing got chewed. She sat. She learned to play fetch gloriously. When my neighbours dogs acted like assholes she was a complete angel. Good with kids, a master of finding things, and the worst thing she would do from time to time was sleep on the bed. I'm still not sure what exactly happened, but from that day either I saw she was perfect to begin with or she saw I was in it for the long haul and started behaving better. I prefer to believe she was perfect to begin with and that I didn't see it until I came to grips with the fact that I was though slightly against my will, sort of in love with my dog. I didn't know people could love dogs so much back then.
It's been 9 years since I carried her through the rainforest in a makeshift baby bjorn and trekked from Rio to Quito, Ecuador with her. Since then we've been all over North America (including Alaska), the United Kingdom, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, South Korea, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Denmark, and Sweden together.
She talks to me in noises still like she did when she was a puppy. She is also amazing at football/soccer and should have been recruited for the French national team. She plays Frisbee like a pro, jumps like a prized thoroughbred, and has outrun a Greyhound. She is the most intelligent dog I've ever met and even people I know who don't like dogs love her. And if that was all she was - just a good dog I probably wouldn't keep going on about it, but she's so much more.
She's more than a dog to me. What was rough and cold about me she smoothed down and softened. She made me a better person. She taught me it's okay to love with all my heart again. She has given me a light heartedness that I didn't have before she came into my life.
A year ago we had a scare that maybe she had cancer and I never felt so much sadness in my life. I thought I had, but I hadn't. Thankfully it turned out to be just a scare and she's actually very healthy for her age. I tell her she has to live forever. No matter what she always will. If there is a heaven I know when I get there she's going to be waiting for me, probably wondering if I've brought her any food. Or if I've got a ball in my pocket.
I won't be blogging anymore today because I'm taking my furry best friend to the butcher's to chose her birthday steak (we even have an appointment) and to get ice cream (I only let her have vanilla, but she's mad for ice cream) and to run around the park and if you think I'm retarded for loving my dog so much there is a small part of me that is in agreement with you except for the larger part of me that wonders how after reading everything above you can still wonder why I do so much for my dog on the anniversary of the day she came into my life because is she not obviously so amazingly awesome?
If I could afford it I'd feed her a 20 euro steak every day. Like L'Oreal says, she's worth it.
Happy birthday to my furry best friend.
Sit.
Stay.
Live forever!
I love you hound., you're my bitch. Or I'm yours. Either way, I'm pretty happy with our arrangement.
I found my dog when she was begging for food with her brother outside my apartment door when I was working in Rio de Janiero. Stray animals are everywhere in Latin America, but eventually I couldn't stop myself and I fed her. The reason why I didn't want to feed her was because I knew I would be leaving in a few weeks and I didn't think I could take a 5 week old puppy with me as I trekked through the Amazonian rainforest.
Still I made it work and three months later she was standing in my apartment in the Back Bay looking up at me while simultaneously peeing on the floor, but she looked really unhappy to be doing it. I carried her, mid-pee, out the back door and set her down in the garden. From that day forward she was housetrained. We moved to New York.
I thought it'd be smooth sailing from then on because she was obviously a very smart dog, but the smarter the dog the more trouble they can get into. One day I arrived home to carnage. My loft was 2 floors, one of which was covered in tiny little white feathers (she destroyed my feather duvet) and on the second floor were about 20 single shoes she'd chewed up (she never ate them in paris). I of course had a melt-down. I thought the feathers were sort of hilarious, but no one fucks with a woman's shoes. 20 pairs of designer high heels gone. I went nuclear.
I put her on her leash and dragged her out to my car (which I still had at that time because I was a dumbass who thought owning a car was a sensible thing to do in New York City). I was going to bring her to the pound. I couldn't take the chewing through the wall, destroying everything I owned, and the lifestyle change owning a dog had forced upon me. I was going to bring her to the pound and get on with my life as normally scheduled.
I sat in the car for an hour without even starting it and then took her back into the house. The next day nothing got chewed. She sat. She learned to play fetch gloriously. When my neighbours dogs acted like assholes she was a complete angel. Good with kids, a master of finding things, and the worst thing she would do from time to time was sleep on the bed. I'm still not sure what exactly happened, but from that day either I saw she was perfect to begin with or she saw I was in it for the long haul and started behaving better. I prefer to believe she was perfect to begin with and that I didn't see it until I came to grips with the fact that I was though slightly against my will, sort of in love with my dog. I didn't know people could love dogs so much back then.
It's been 9 years since I carried her through the rainforest in a makeshift baby bjorn and trekked from Rio to Quito, Ecuador with her. Since then we've been all over North America (including Alaska), the United Kingdom, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, South Korea, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Denmark, and Sweden together.
She talks to me in noises still like she did when she was a puppy. She is also amazing at football/soccer and should have been recruited for the French national team. She plays Frisbee like a pro, jumps like a prized thoroughbred, and has outrun a Greyhound. She is the most intelligent dog I've ever met and even people I know who don't like dogs love her. And if that was all she was - just a good dog I probably wouldn't keep going on about it, but she's so much more.
She's more than a dog to me. What was rough and cold about me she smoothed down and softened. She made me a better person. She taught me it's okay to love with all my heart again. She has given me a light heartedness that I didn't have before she came into my life.
A year ago we had a scare that maybe she had cancer and I never felt so much sadness in my life. I thought I had, but I hadn't. Thankfully it turned out to be just a scare and she's actually very healthy for her age. I tell her she has to live forever. No matter what she always will. If there is a heaven I know when I get there she's going to be waiting for me, probably wondering if I've brought her any food. Or if I've got a ball in my pocket.
I won't be blogging anymore today because I'm taking my furry best friend to the butcher's to chose her birthday steak (we even have an appointment) and to get ice cream (I only let her have vanilla, but she's mad for ice cream) and to run around the park and if you think I'm retarded for loving my dog so much there is a small part of me that is in agreement with you except for the larger part of me that wonders how after reading everything above you can still wonder why I do so much for my dog on the anniversary of the day she came into my life because is she not obviously so amazingly awesome?
If I could afford it I'd feed her a 20 euro steak every day. Like L'Oreal says, she's worth it.
Happy birthday to my furry best friend.
Sit.
Stay.
Live forever!
I love you hound., you're my bitch. Or I'm yours. Either way, I'm pretty happy with our arrangement.
