RheumaBlog

Same dragon, different day.

I want a dog.

I already have a cat.

A dog would greet me each morning with a huge, toothy smile while wagging its behind in an attempt to keep up with its tail. A dog would be delighted I was awake and out of bed, you see. A dog would run for its leash and dance in front of the door. Its whole being would exude “Yipeee let’s go let’s go let’s go for a walk!”

My cat merely stands on my chest, each of his front paws weighing 65.9 pounds, and waits for me to start gasping for air, which never fails to wake me. Then he sits in front of his bowl and watches me like a hawk until I pour his morning repast, roughly two tablespoons of evaporated milk. When he’s licked the bowl clean he goes back to bed.

Snickering.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my cat, but our relationship is based totally on comfort. His, mostly. Sure, he does his part. He meatloafs on my stomach and purrs me to sleep each night, which is sweet and oddly reassuring. But let’s not kid ourselves. If my stomach wasn’t soft and blumphy – not to mention 30 degrees warmer than the surrounding furniture – the cat wouldn’t bother. We both know it.

But a dog … a dog would get under the covers with me. He’d sleep as close as possible, and he’d stay in that position until he used up all the oxygen down there. And not only that: my dog would do this because he wants to be with me, because in his soulful brown eyes I’m the Most Wonderful Person in the World – and not just because his paws are cold.

Now I have to admit I already DO have a dog. And he’s a Good Dog, mostly. Trouble is, he’s a few crayons short of a full box, and while he starts out behaving nicely on a leash, a passing car can terrify him. He weighs 93 compact and very muscular pounds, so if he bolts, believe me, he’s taking me with him. Right under that car’s tires.

He’s also utterly convinced he must protect me from Evil People. I wouldn’t mind this (and frankly, I feel quite safe if I’m home alone), except he considers all people outside of his own family/pack Evil. That means if I take him for a walk, I have to put a muzzle on him or he’ll disembowel anyone who comes closer than 10 feet away. This is Not Good. The muzzle, by the way, also terrifies my poor, cracked dog. We both end up traumatized and trembling.

We took him to training classes and tried hard to socialize him, but by then I was terrified he’d tear the hand off some heedless child who ran up squealing, arms outstretched for a big hug, “Doggie! Cute doggie!” Because he is cute. He looks like a big, cuddly, red-gold bear. But looks are deceiving, and when it was clear that the only way to keep him from biting someone was to have all his teeth removed, we gave up.

My dog and I don’t do walkies. Ever.

He’s going on 13 years old now and showing his age. He’s all gray around his eyes and jaws, and he likes nothing better than to snooze near the fire. So while it makes me feel a little bit guilty, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it would be like to have a “normal” dog. One that I can take on walks. One that might lick people to death, but would never dream of hurting them in any way. One with no bats in his belfry.

There’s a motive to my madness. I like to walk. It’s great for my health: it revs up my naturally slow metabolism, it helps strengthen my muscles and be more flexible, and it’s good for the rheuma. The thing is, I don’t particularly like walking by myself. Human walking buddies are great if I can find one, but most of the time I can’t. So most of the time I also can’t seem to get myself out for a walk.

When I do, I enjoy the fresh air and the movement, but I’m a bit lonely. No one to talk to. No one to point out that pretty bird to, or laugh about the llama with. I take my iPod and listen to music or an audiobook while I walk, but it just isn’t the same as company.

And then I see someone coming along the trail toward me, a dog on a leash beside or in front of her. The dog is trotting along smiling, ears perked, tongue lolling, a bit goofy smile on his face. His person seems happy, too. They’re a team. They’re both enjoying the walk.

While out on my solitary walks I’ve seen rottweilers and rat terriers, shepherds and shi tzus. I’ve seen Basset hounds, and Welsh corgis, and Boston terriers and dachshunds. I’ve even seen Great Danes and once, a huge, beautiful, black Newfoundland hound. Some of them I’ve stopped and talked to – the dogs and their people.

It’s so nice.

So I’m thinking about a dog. I probably won’t get one until my fearful old friend goes to the Great Doghouse in the Sky, but that’s OK. I’ve been perusing pet adoption sites. There are so many Good Dogs who need Good People. I’m sure that one day, we’ll find each other.

Oh – gotta go. The cat wants his supper.

6 thoughts on “Walking dreams

  1. Laurie says:

    Great minds think alike! I tweeted lately that I want to borrow a pet. My kind friends responded immediately offering up all sorts of critters: dogs, cats, birds even. My horse, alas, won’t fit in my apartment, but if he could, he’d be ideal: he loves to cuddle and hug (his version: he rest his nose right in the middle of my chest!). Pets are wonderful and while not actually practical in my life, I hope that went the time comes in yours, you get the dog of your dreams! And may your walks be long and lovely! 🙂 Laurie

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  2. ValleyWriter says:

    I have 2 cats and as sweet as they are, I, too, long for a dog. But, working out of the house 10+ hours a day doesn’t create a dog-friendly home, so we’re stuck play fetch with the kitten (she’s pretty good at it, though!).

    Here’s hoping your puppy dreams come true!

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  3. Cathy says:

    Our dog, a border collie, goes nuts on walks with anything that moves – bikers especially. She is full of energy but oh so smart! They each have their own personality, don’t they? Somehow we always learn to love them. I hope your dream dog turns out to be absolutely wonderful.

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  4. tharr says:

    We have 3 dogs and a cat. The cat could care less about us, unless she’s hungry. The outside dog likes to come inside, the 2 inside dogs want to be outside … for about 10 minutes. All 3 dogs are very loveable, but the smallest dog has little dog complex. Our big outside dog doesn’t help matters by letting her climb all over him and bark or growl at him (he just ignores her) and she thinks she rules the roost. After so long, the big dog will put her in her place, she gets her feelings hurt and runs and hides under the bed. Somedays it’s like raising kids, but life would be boring without them.

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  5. jim (aka SK) says:

    Your dog’s a real cutie, Wren. Come hither eyes (to get you within biting range, I expect). Our eldest dog Buzz was a problem for a few years, fighting other dogs, not coming back. We took him to obedience classes, but the guy who ran them, a scary, para-military type who used to boast about his seven dobermans (although we figured out that he probably just had a chihuahua called ‘7 dobermans’)said he thought Buzz was a rough diamond, only because he didn’t misbehave at all when he was in the class, grr. Buzz is 11 now and slowing right down. We got another rescue dog last year, a whippet/something cross called Lola. She’s fast and enthusiastic, but not terribly bright. It was great to see her rounded up by a Collie the other day!

    Next time you’re down this way, let’s take all the dogs out! x

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