When I was a kid I always wanted a dog. But dogs needed a big farm where they could run and dig, and since we lived in town, we were forced to be cat people. After going through two cats in a fairly short span of time – we lived on a busy road – we finally settled on an unfriendly barn cat named Socks, which we called Kitty.
Kitty had a disturbing meow that mimicked a sick Pterodactyl, used only for the purpose of letting us know she needed fed. Any other time Kitty was painfully indifferent to our family, eventually leaving us for our neighbors who offered premium canned cat food.
We had only the dry crusty stuff – Meow Mix maybe? On occasion, Kitty would show up on our porch, fatter each time with all the good food she’d been eating. As Kitty’s body grew, her head seemed to shrink, her legs shorten. This added an extra disturbing element to the treacherous feline, but our love for her was unconditional.
“Joe, look! Kitty’s not dead!” my sister Jackie would cry when Kitty appeared once a year on the front porch out of thin air, brushing against the nearest objects and coughing out a meow. No, I thought, it was worse than death; Kitty had a new family she loved more than us.
Then our neighbors moved away and she disappeared altogether.
My youngest sister, Boze - a victim of a nickname that stuck - was probably too young to understand, but Jackie and I were practically devastated by Kitty’s neglect. We grew up sad because of it.
So you can imagine the rainbow of new life that shined on Jackie and me the day we got dogs. Pets that actually liked us! “It was the best decision I had ever made,” announced Jackie one day in the car, her Golden Retriever Grace panting in my face from the back seat. My mouth was open ready to bring up her decision to marry Jeff, but I cut myself off. Somehow deep in my heart I figured that it had already been considered, and it was up to Jeff to be fine with accepting his forever humble place as the second best decision Jackie had ever made. “Just be happy you made the top five,” I could hear Jackie saying. (I'm kidding, of course. No one, I'm sure, could replace Jeff as Jackie's number one...but it still may be close.)
Phoebe is a short-haired, 9 pound, trained circus dog that bounced off a westbound circus train in a wooden crate one orange, dusky evening – or so I like to believe. The little dog became legally mine (or ours) the second Jess and I said I do. What delights me most is that Phoebe really loves hanging around me. She follows me where ever I go, wagging her tail and wanting to play ball. We’ve become the best of friends, and her cute irrational love for me I gladly take for genuine every time she happily meets me at the door when I come home.
I have grown to take care of her every need. Every day I give her water and food. I let her outside when needed. I playfully tug on her floppy ears as her play-bites turn to gentle little licks. I pet her belly and give her walks – sometimes twice a day.
In case you’re wondering, the point of my story is this: I love my dog.
Kitty had a disturbing meow that mimicked a sick Pterodactyl, used only for the purpose of letting us know she needed fed. Any other time Kitty was painfully indifferent to our family, eventually leaving us for our neighbors who offered premium canned cat food.
We had only the dry crusty stuff – Meow Mix maybe? On occasion, Kitty would show up on our porch, fatter each time with all the good food she’d been eating. As Kitty’s body grew, her head seemed to shrink, her legs shorten. This added an extra disturbing element to the treacherous feline, but our love for her was unconditional.
“Joe, look! Kitty’s not dead!” my sister Jackie would cry when Kitty appeared once a year on the front porch out of thin air, brushing against the nearest objects and coughing out a meow. No, I thought, it was worse than death; Kitty had a new family she loved more than us.
Then our neighbors moved away and she disappeared altogether.
My youngest sister, Boze - a victim of a nickname that stuck - was probably too young to understand, but Jackie and I were practically devastated by Kitty’s neglect. We grew up sad because of it.
So you can imagine the rainbow of new life that shined on Jackie and me the day we got dogs. Pets that actually liked us! “It was the best decision I had ever made,” announced Jackie one day in the car, her Golden Retriever Grace panting in my face from the back seat. My mouth was open ready to bring up her decision to marry Jeff, but I cut myself off. Somehow deep in my heart I figured that it had already been considered, and it was up to Jeff to be fine with accepting his forever humble place as the second best decision Jackie had ever made. “Just be happy you made the top five,” I could hear Jackie saying. (I'm kidding, of course. No one, I'm sure, could replace Jeff as Jackie's number one...but it still may be close.)
Phoebe is a short-haired, 9 pound, trained circus dog that bounced off a westbound circus train in a wooden crate one orange, dusky evening – or so I like to believe. The little dog became legally mine (or ours) the second Jess and I said I do. What delights me most is that Phoebe really loves hanging around me. She follows me where ever I go, wagging her tail and wanting to play ball. We’ve become the best of friends, and her cute irrational love for me I gladly take for genuine every time she happily meets me at the door when I come home.
I have grown to take care of her every need. Every day I give her water and food. I let her outside when needed. I playfully tug on her floppy ears as her play-bites turn to gentle little licks. I pet her belly and give her walks – sometimes twice a day.
In case you’re wondering, the point of my story is this: I love my dog.
2 comments:
Joe..this excites me because I know you are just a "dad" in training! :)
Love you!
maybe i can relate more to this because I'm Phoebes uncle.
I too find cats a bit akward. I drove past one the other night going 70mph and it still had that "I'm a lion" attitude, a few feet over and it would've been lion alright, lion on the side of the road.
keep writing...
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