So I’ve become THAT girl. THAT person. THAT crazy dog person. I obsessively share pictures of my dog. I talk in baby talk to him. I talk about the cute little things he does all day whether people wanna hear or not (most likely not.) I am everything I hate in this world, and yet I couldn’t be happier.
Just over a month ago, my life changed when I adopted the most delicious, adorable, amazing 3 year old dog, Sir Arthur Von Trapp. I have never owned a dog before. I never even really grew up with pets. My family had a Miniature Schnauzer when I was about 7 years old, but my parents decided to give her away (to an incredibly loving neighbor in a wheelchair with whom she lived with until her death. RIP Ginger) We also had a rabbit for a while… wait. OMG. WE HAD A RABBIT. WTF happened to that rabbit? Crap. I need to ask my mom.
About 12 years ago, I was bit by a dog. At The Coffee Bean. It was a hot summer day and all I wanted was my Ice Blended half vanilla/half mocha and somehow I ended up at the hospital instead. Some ratty looking thing attacked me as I went to sit down. My sudden movement apparently scared him and he tore through my khaki capri pants (it was like the year 2000, ok?) and bit my leg. The doctor gave me shots and I was left with a scar. While it was small, my emotional scar from the whole ‘Cujo’ experience was far larger.
For several years after that, I pretty much lived in fear of dogs. I would cross the street to avoid walking by them. My heart would race when I would see a dog. A dog off leash? Forget it. I would practically curl into the fetal position and not move an inch. I’m not sure when things turned around… but they did. In a big way.
While most women my age are having baby fever, I was having a dog fever. As I’ve gotten older, the idea of having children has become less and less appealing. I lead a selfish life. I’m single. I live alone. I have an active social life. And while I ADORE my friends’ kids (truly) and cherish my two nieces more than anything, I don’t envy my friends’ or my sister’s lives. I’m not saying I won’t ever have children (but with me turning 35 in a few weeks, my race against nature is certainly on…) But I’m pretty sure my biological clock stopped ticking many years ago. I’m not sure I even had one of those clocks to begin with?! If it wasn’t for my all-consuming desire for a dog over the last few years, I would have been convinced I was truly dead inside.
I started actively searching for a dog to adopt. And then I met Arthur. He wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. But one look at that smile, I melted. I adopted him the day I met him and once I made the decision, I nearly had a panic attack. You can actually see my fear in the handwriting on my check. But my scribbles were enough to call him mine, and off he went with me. I got him home and I nearly had a second panic attack. Shit. He was mine. Like forever. Like, OMG what have I done?! I mean, I can’t be that asshole who takes the dog back to the shelter. “Man up” I told myself. MAN UP YOU IRRESPONSIBLE SELFISH TWAT (seriously, I think that was my internal dialog, verbatim.) Thankfully my friends came over that afternoon with their dog. They fell in love with Arthur. So did their dog. My fears soon melted and from that afternoon forward, we have been inseparable. Seriously, he watches me pee.
My life is forever better having him in my life. I’m even OK with being THAT girl. But I promise to chill on the baby talk. ‘Cause I’m sure it irritates me, more than it does you. Ok, maybe it irritates you more. Yeah, probably.
Buuuut woooook at that wittle adorwable face! (ok, stopping. now. swear.)