2007/07/19 20:50
Twenty-Five
I've always been a dog person. My uncles had dogs when I was growing up, and my stepfather eased into my life with his. I trained my parents' basset hound puppy and won over my college friends with her cuteness. But I didn't have my own dogs until I got back from Japan.
They weren't even my dogs to start with. Two months before my return, my friend and future housemate Coop had gone to Pound Puppy Day (or whatever it's called) at PetSmart, coming home with a ten-pound golden fluffball named Mai Tai. I still remember my reaction when Sed's text message appeared on my phone: a groan of dismay, followed by explaining to my friends, "I have a dog, apparently." I knew I'd be taking care of the puppy when I got home, not necessarily because of anyone's neglect or incompetence but simply because I had the most experience with dogs.
When I moved in, Kucha (as she had been quickly renamed, after a tribe on Survivor, which for the record I would like to say I only watched for one season and then gave up, and don't do drugs, kids) was a gangly 50-pounder who could stand with her paws on my shoulders. She howled, she clawed at the sliding glass door, she dug in the dirt, and she would make you chase her around the kitchen table for hours before you could put her outside. But she also leaned against your hip while you petted her, nestled her head in your lap when you sat on the couch, and snuggled up with you in bed. I loved her right away. Here was a dog, I realized, who had been concieved out of neglect and left for dead, but she was still sweet, loyal and loving.
But she was still Coop's dog. So I tried not to get too attached.
When Shauna moved in about a month later, she asked if we objected to her bringing her dog along. Angel was a skittish cocker spaniel runt who barked at everything and everybody. She hid behind Shauna's legs for the first three days in our house, and stayed in her room while her master was at school. But it only took about fifteen minutes of Angel's whining the fourth day to call Shauna and ask if it was OK to let her out. After that, Angel took to me like I was her best friend. She sat on my lap, she curled up under my feet at my desk, she raced around the house like a banshee when I came home.
But she was still Shauna's dog. So. Again.
One year later, we've enjoyed living together and enjoyed having the dogs in our lives. Kucha and Angel are best buddies by now -- they play tug and chase as readily as they curl up together on the couch. But Sed and I are getting married, and as such we'd like to have our own place to live, no roommates.
"We're going to get an apartment," I announced to the roomies a few months before the wedding.
"Well, if you're moving out, we don't really want to take care of this house by ourselves," they said. "We'll find an apartment too."
"What about your dogs?"
I received a momentary blank look.
"Oh, yeah."
That was when I realized it. Kucha and Angel were already my dogs. I fed them, I walked them, I played with them, I cleaned up after them. And as such, Coop and Shauna had stopped thinking of themselves as dog owners.
So I kept the house with Sed. Coop and Shauna helped me clean and paint over the summer, I helped them move to a new apartment, they passed over the paperwork, and by August Sed and I were officially the proud parents of two blonde canine children.
They weren't even my dogs to start with. Two months before my return, my friend and future housemate Coop had gone to Pound Puppy Day (or whatever it's called) at PetSmart, coming home with a ten-pound golden fluffball named Mai Tai. I still remember my reaction when Sed's text message appeared on my phone: a groan of dismay, followed by explaining to my friends, "I have a dog, apparently." I knew I'd be taking care of the puppy when I got home, not necessarily because of anyone's neglect or incompetence but simply because I had the most experience with dogs.
When I moved in, Kucha (as she had been quickly renamed, after a tribe on Survivor, which for the record I would like to say I only watched for one season and then gave up, and don't do drugs, kids) was a gangly 50-pounder who could stand with her paws on my shoulders. She howled, she clawed at the sliding glass door, she dug in the dirt, and she would make you chase her around the kitchen table for hours before you could put her outside. But she also leaned against your hip while you petted her, nestled her head in your lap when you sat on the couch, and snuggled up with you in bed. I loved her right away. Here was a dog, I realized, who had been concieved out of neglect and left for dead, but she was still sweet, loyal and loving.
But she was still Coop's dog. So I tried not to get too attached.
When Shauna moved in about a month later, she asked if we objected to her bringing her dog along. Angel was a skittish cocker spaniel runt who barked at everything and everybody. She hid behind Shauna's legs for the first three days in our house, and stayed in her room while her master was at school. But it only took about fifteen minutes of Angel's whining the fourth day to call Shauna and ask if it was OK to let her out. After that, Angel took to me like I was her best friend. She sat on my lap, she curled up under my feet at my desk, she raced around the house like a banshee when I came home.
But she was still Shauna's dog. So. Again.
One year later, we've enjoyed living together and enjoyed having the dogs in our lives. Kucha and Angel are best buddies by now -- they play tug and chase as readily as they curl up together on the couch. But Sed and I are getting married, and as such we'd like to have our own place to live, no roommates.
"We're going to get an apartment," I announced to the roomies a few months before the wedding.
"Well, if you're moving out, we don't really want to take care of this house by ourselves," they said. "We'll find an apartment too."
"What about your dogs?"
I received a momentary blank look.
"Oh, yeah."
That was when I realized it. Kucha and Angel were already my dogs. I fed them, I walked them, I played with them, I cleaned up after them. And as such, Coop and Shauna had stopped thinking of themselves as dog owners.
So I kept the house with Sed. Coop and Shauna helped me clean and paint over the summer, I helped them move to a new apartment, they passed over the paperwork, and by August Sed and I were officially the proud parents of two blonde canine children.
