Well, tomorrow is the big day. We're dog-sitting Brian's friend's Chesapeake Bay retriever this weekend. After work tomorrow, I'm going to pick him up and bring him back to our house.
It was my extremely fervent hope that Donnie (the dog--named after Don Mattingly, the former New York Yankees team captain) behaves himself. If he is an exemplary dog this weekend, it can only increase my chances of convincing Brian that we, too, need a dog.
Isn't it unusual that the wife (me) has to convince the husband (him) to get a dog? I thought it was normally the other way around. But no. Brian's never had a dog in his life. None of his family has ever owned dogs, or been owned by dogs, as the case usually is. This kind of blows my mind. They are cat people. They think that dogs are wild, smell bad, and make a mess of the house. Which may be somewhat true, but to me the cost/benefit analysis is clearly in favor of canine companionship.
Don't get me wrong; I love cats, too. In general, I am a total animal person. I'd have birds, rats, and a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig if I were allowed to. And we have two fabulous male kitties whom I just adore...but even they don't fulfill my need for a more intense human/animal bond.
A dog would make me ever so happy. I'd even do all the work involved in taking care of it without complaint. It would be MY dog.
We've been married just over three years, and for 2.9 of those years, I've been subtly, and sometimes not-so-subtly, trying to get my way in this matter. I don’t ask for much. I’m not a nag. Brian plays golf, softball, poker and bowls in a weekly league, all without complaint from me. As a wife, I think I’m pretty darn cool. But I’m alone a lot, because of his extracurriculars. So why can’t I get a dog to keep me company? Sigh…
I witnessed something about a month ago that just broke my heart. On a sunny Saturday afternoon, my mother and I were driving to Target to do some shopping. We were in my car, and I was taking a shortcut through a residential neighborhood. A very wealthy neighborhood, in fact. We were chatting and laughing, and suddenly I noticed something on the side of the road, up ahead in the distance. I shushed my mom and slowed down, and what I saw next nearly made me burst into tears.
There on the side of this road, next to what I would have to imagine was a $500,000 home, stood an adult Siberian husky. It had a thick rope tied around its neck, and on the other end of the rope was an empty plastic water jug. Also attached to the rope was a sign that read "Take Me." The dog stood there, in the gutter, looking lost and confused and sad. I don’t know if the owner of the $500,00 house had put the dog out there, or if someone who had driven by just pushed it out of their car.
I stopped the car and pulled over to the opposite side of the road. My mother said, “You’re not going to get out of the car, are you? You don’t know if that dog is vicious!” The only reason I did not get out of the car and go to the dog was because she was with me. Had I been alone, I would’ve tried to get the dog into my car and taken it home with me. Instead, I called 911 – okay, I’ll admit it was probably overkill, but I was absolutely distraught and couldn’t think of anything else to do. I certainly wasn’t going to leave this animal on the side of the road to be hit by a car.
After I informed the 911 dispatcher of the situation (who thought I was a wee bit crazy, no doubt), I pulled away and continued to Target, at my mother’s insistence. I’m pretty disappointed in myself for doing that. I should have at least stayed in my car where I was, just to keep an eye on that dog until the cops or the Humane Society came to take it to safety. But my mother, who does not share the level of passion I have for animals, was becoming impatient, so I felt it was best for me to go.
We ran our errands and as I headed for hom, I turned up the street where the dog had been. My mother said, “I knew you’d go back to check on that dog.” We passed the spot where it had stood, and it was gone. I’ll never know if it wandered off on its own, or if the police truly cared enough to come and get it.
The whole point of my story is this: why is it that some people who couldn’t care less about dogs and treat them as a disposable entity are ALLOWED to have them…and I want one so very badly and would love it to pieces, but am not “allowed” to have it? It makes me so angry. Grrr. Oh, I suppose I could just stop at the shelter one day and bring one home, but that would really upset Brian, and I don’t think it would be worth the ensuing arguments.
So instead, I’m slowly chinking away at his willpower. Because I cannot see living the rest of my life dog-free. Any ideas?
In My Head
