Sometime in the last year, I think I became a dog person. It’s not something I planned on being. I’m not sure I planned on being a fundraiser either. These things have a way of sneaking up on you. We did not have dogs growing up. In fact, I wanted a dog once and my dad said no. Probably a good call, since that dog was a beagle / hound mix or some similarly howly dog. Not good for the suburbs. My childhood was, therefore, bereft of dog experience.
Not completely so my young adulthood. I had a dog named Zelda, who’s one accomplishment in her time with me was to lend her name to a festival at Christ School. Alas, Zelda went up for adoption not because she was a bad dog, but because I was not a great doggy daddy. If I go to hell, it will be for my youthful inattention to animals. To be honest, I just did not understand.
And if you have to ask “understand what?” I am going to suspect that you have never lived with a dog. Having lived with one for ten years now, there is a whole lot I have experienced that could never have been told to me. Poo, for instance, has become something of a non-issue. That could also be the parenting talking. There is also the way the dog looks up at you. Yeah, that way. Somewhere along the way, the dog became my little buddy.
This despite the fact that the first dog is technically Abigail’s dog. There is a second dog now too. That dog is technically Louisa’s, and she calls her “Daisy.” Somehow I feel sure that I will get to do enough poo picking up that Daisy may become my dog too. In the back of my mind, I will call her “Bootsy.” If there is any grace in this world, any shot at redemption, Zebedee and Daisy maybe are bringing it on Zelda’s behalf. God I hope so.