I know that cats are generally thought of as the pet of choice for single ladies, but I must disagree. I dig cats and have cat-sat for neighbors on multiple occasions and their cats are highly cute and some are snuggly and like to play. That is all well and good, but what a cat cannot do is force you to regularly go outside. That is not the only reason that I got a dog and not even the top reason why I love my dog so much, but it is extremely helpful when I am tending towards hermiting away my days, to have a very persistent dog insisting we must go outside.
And when you go outside you can meet other people. Now I don't mean that this is the way you will meet that special someone who will sweep you off your feet (if you are the feet sweeping type of peep), as those who have read my blog and the exploits with DW can attest, it hasn’t worked out that way for me. But you will meet people. All kinds of people and dogs. For me, getting out and walking my dog has resulted in me meeting and making some great friends in the neighborhood.
A dog is so much more than an excuse to get out of the house though. There is something so wonderful about coming home and seeing Charlie wag his way toward me, leaning in for a cuddle and some scratches and love. I could have had the most craptastic of days, replete with semi-breakdowns and wanting to staple things to people’s heads, but when I walk in the door it is impossible not to smile when I see that doggy face. He’ll bring me whatever toy he was playing with while I was gone, sort of a doggy show-and-tell, as if to say, look what I did! And as my friends settle down and have less time to hang out what with spouse’s schedules, kids’ schedules, and maybe even trying to sleep or some other essential activities, there is someone that will always have time for me. I have no doubt, that although Charlie loves a lot of other people, I am his most favorite person and the one he would drop everything for. Except maybe a very tasty treat.
I’m not suggesting that a dog is the perfect pet for everyone or that a dog will cure whatever ails you. Some people have certain expectations that cannot be met by a dog – a dog is not a perfectly obedient automaton who will never disobey you. It would be highly boring if they did, and if that is what you are looking for, perhaps a robotic pet would be better, or a nice picture of a dog. There may be accidents, some things might get chewed. He may constantly insist on eating his treats on the guest bed, twisting up and dirtying the coverlet so that you are fairly constantly doing the laundry (or finally remembering to close the guest bedroom door). He may bark incessantly at that one dog up the street or refuse to be mean to DW and his golden retriever and try to rush after them whenever he sees them. So if you’re expecting perfection, you’re going to be disappointed. The bright side is, that your dog will pretty much think you are perfect in every respect.
The thing with dogs, is that they have a remarkable capacity to love and to relieve pain. When I take Charlie to visit the nursing home, it amazes me how even those residents in the darkest hells of dementia, so locked in their silent world that at times words fail them. Give them a few minutes with Charlie and they look peaceful, even happy. They may not be able to talk to me or express what is going on in their worlds, but the sight of his wagging tail, the feel of his soft fur, maybe a lick, maybe leaning against them, this does wonders. He doesn’t ask them for anything, he doesn’t say meaningless words, he just is there. He does the same for me when I’m exhausted with despair, when it seems like things can’t possibly get better. When I have no idea what to do and all I want is to numb myself from these feelings. I will feel a certain wet nose, nudging under my arm to snuggle in close. Sometimes he knows I just need him there, leaning against me and making know I’m not alone. And sometimes he knows I need to get the heck out of the house and leave my thoughts behind for a walk or a hike.
Charlie will forever be special to me for another reason. Going to pick him up from the shelter with my dad –this was the last thing that my dad and I did just the two of us, before my dad started to slip away into Alzheimer’s. I think at that point, my sister and I had started to talk about how his memory was not what it used to be, but he was still really all there and we had no idea what was about to happen.
I remember the day with an eerie precision that escapes me for most other events. It was a Friday in February 2006. I had a few weeks left at the job I had since graduating college and would be starting a new job in about a month. I knew that I wanted to get a dog since before I bought my house in June 2005, but I made myself wait to make sure that I could handle the responsibility and expenses of a house before I took on additional duties with a dog. I planned to get a dog during a week of leave I was taking just before my final days on the job, but those plans went out the window when I met Charlie and the shelter said they wouldn’t hold him for me – I had to take him home that day.
I’m not sure why I asked my dad to drive me to the shelter. I think I was nervous – I had never owned my own dog before as an adult, and I kinda wanted my daddy there with me. So we got in his minivan and drove the Defenders of Animal Rights shelter north of Baltimore. The woman I spoke to on the phone said they had a few terrier puppies left but they were going fast. When we got there, there were only two left from the litter: Charlie and his brother. The shelter let my dad and I meet the two puppies in a room and gave us some time to get to know each other. My dad looked a little skeptical as the one puppy careened around the room, chewing on leashes and having a ball. I sat on the floor cross-legged to watch the puppies. The other dog, the quieter one, walked shyly up to me and put one paw on my leg, as if asking permission. I patted my leg and he jumped into my lap, turned around once and lay down, sighing that doggy sigh that has become my most favorite sound in the world. He was my dog. There was no question.
But I looked at his brother and the thought of leaving him that evening was impossible. I started to say about how I could take both of them and that is when my sweet father said that there was no way in hell he was driving me home with two dogs. He said that I had just bought a house and this was my first dog and I needed to see if I could handle one before I took on another one. Then he asked the woman from the shelter to come in and asked her if she thought there would be a problem finding a home for the other dog. She laughed and said there would be no problem as three people had already called and were coming in the next day. With how cute those pups were, she said that he would have a home by Monday.
At the time I was slightly miffed with my dad. I mean, I was seriously excited to have Charlie who was even then snuggling into my arms as I was trying to fill in all the paperwork. But still, how could look at that other sweet puppy face and say no? And later my mom would pester him, why didn’t he adopt Charlie’s brother for them to keep? Now, this memory stands out as just him being my dad and wanting to make sure I didn’t take on too much, wanting to protect me from my own impulsive behavior. Maybe knowing that he and my mom wouldn’t be able to care for a dog pretty soon. He was saying and doing the things then that he cannot do now.
As we filled in the paperwork, my dad asked me what I was going to name my new dog. I looked into his dark eyes for under a minute and decisively said, “Charlie.” Then we got into the car and drove to the pet store. My dad sat in the car with Charlie while I ran in and bought a crate, bed, bowls, leash, collar, food, treats, gates, and anything else I could lay my hands on. Then we drove back to my parents’ house so my mom could meet Charlie, and the poor little guy who had made it all through the 30 minute drive, threw up just as we turned down my parent’s street.
After some time to settle his stomach and let my mom get to cuddle him, my dad drove me back to my house and sat with Charlie in the van while I quickly tried to puppy proof the house. They came in and my dad tried not to roll his eyes as he helped me put baby locks on the cabinet where I keep my cleaning stuff. And then he drove home and Charlie and I started our lives together.
When I look back on those days now, I remember not only how adorable Charlie was, but how capable my dad was at the time. Before he started to go downhill, he and my mom would come over during the workweek and walk Charlie for me. With working in DC and northern VA, I pulled some long hours – much longer than a puppy can handle. So my dad would walk Charlie while my mom hung out in my house, getting treats ready for when they returned. My dad used to say that Charlie was a “chic magnet” and that all the lovely ladies would come up to my dad and coo over Charlie. Then my mom would swat at him and say that next time she would walk Charlie to pick up all the neighborhood hunks. Eventually though, it became obvious that my dad shouldn’t have been driving and I hired a dog walker.
My dad still lights up when I bring Charlie over to visit him and my mom. He doesn’t sing for him like he used to, but he sits up and reaches his hands out to pet him, asking me how old Charlie is now. I answer him and ask him if he remembers the day we went to the shelter. My dad always says yes but since I know otherwise, I retell the story and my dad laughs and says yes, that’s how it was. And even though I know that in a few minutes, he will again ask me how old Charlie is now, I smile. I smile not just at the memory of that day, but at how in spite of everything my dad is still happy –happy to see me and most definitely, happy to see Charlie.
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