A Dog's Life

“I rescued you together, Bagel and Loxy, for a reason. I know you don’t understand, you’re only dogs making requests. I don’t have to answer every one, though I can’t say no to your floppy, lopsided ears. So cute. Come here, let me fix them.

The sun’s not up. Come back to bed.

I know I’ve gained weight, but I need some room! Just let me sleep for another half hour. Yes, I’ll move over. That’s a good girl with your head on my arm. There you go. No, Loxy, I’m not interested in kisses yet, but thank you. I just fell back to sleep hours after my bladder gave as much thought to the quality of my rest as you do.

Your breath is really bad, honey. Go pant on the guy next to me, he’ll sleep through everything. No? It didn’t work with the kids either. 

Fine, let’s get out of bed. Happy? You win. I asked you not to leave that toy there. Of course. I know you’re not the kids, but my requests fall on similarly disinterested ears, though theirs aren’t as floppy.

Let me get a hold of the bannister first! Are you trying to kill me? You can’t stop halfway down. Don’t just stare at me. Move!

You do like the sound of my voice. At least you always perk up and pretend to listen. Such a chin. We can go to the P.A.R.K. but only after I finish this one piece I’ve been writing.

There you go. Door’s open. That’s a good girl. And you? It’s just a drizzle. And while it may seem that way, I don’t actually control the weather. Go pee with your sister!

No. No. No. I’m not feeding you until she comes back. Don’t cock your head at me. I’ll just turn away. Ok, a little treat!

That’s a good little Pavlovian response. You finally figured out that you have to come through the doggy door when you hear the pop of the refrigerator. Which treats should start the day? There’s a whole shelf available for today’s buffet. Nothing but the best full service for you two. 

All right, I’m going to write now. Right now, you know. You two figure it out for a bit. Fine, follow me to the office.

Stop pawing me. I did read that this constant desire to touch me is a sign of affection, but frankly, girl, it just seems needy. And I’m done with that. I’m off the desperate to be with the kids vs. too much writing seesaw.  That’s why I got you two. You formerly abused quirky sisters of love are my reward. Plus, the stakes aren’t nearly as high.

Go lie down. I said we’d walk later. I’m ignoring you now. Actively. I don’t owe you anything.

I am meditating! That squeaky toy adds nothing but adversity. I shouldn’t feel obligated to drag myself out of this trance to throw it. Should I? I can embrace the wet nose, and obscenely demanding paw as part of my consciousness, but it ain’t easy.

Remember when we watched that YouTube video with the dogs who have full on conversations with their people using a bank of buttons? If Copper can tell you he’d like to go for a swim on the beach using a series of colored commands, surely my Bagel, you can tell that the thumb and forefinger are the universal symbol for fuck off, I’m meditating. 

And please, keep it together until I’m ready to receive your downward facing dog. Speaking of yoga, you don’t really have to do it with me. Trying to balance around your balance is messing with my zen. It was adorable when we started out, but you’re still better than me all these months later. It’s humiliating.

That face plant into my palm will get you so many snuggles, but you’re taking up a lot of my time here, and I adopted you together for a reason. The same one my kids are less than two years apart. Entertain yourselves!

I cook for you, I clean up after you, I buy you more expensive toys than I ever bought for my children, won’t you please let me finish this one thought? And now I sound exactly like my mother.

Fine, let’s go to the P.A.R.K. You’ll meet some friends there, run it off. I’m so proud of you that you’re not scared of the car anymore. Really, it only brings you to good places. Except when it doesn’t.

Let’s agree that on days that we hike, you sleep it off. Two miles in terrain is enough to send me upstairs for a nap. The air is perfect, though out here. Crisp and clean and made for dogs and me to frolic. Ooh. That was adorable. Can you do it again? I missed the snapshot!

Go on, get in. That was wonderful. What a good slice of Lox. Where is my Bagel? Hop in, honey. I am not picking you up again. I’m looking out for your dignity. Not mine. I do yoga.

It’s good to be home. I have so much to do. Go lie down on one of your several beds. I mean we have more of those than actual seats.

I’m going to sit here and think now. No. No. I won’t move an inch. That’s it. Just stay. I won’t bring an angry foot to your self imposed forcefield, Loxy. I know how hard it was to earn your trust. Yes, I’m tearing up. You would too if I stared at you half petrified, half excited to see what move I make next. The same way my husband does.

I note your preference for discarded elk antlers, but they’re $20 each and I’m still paying off the house. You’ll have to stick with rubber. 

Now where did he put the slow cooker, girls? Doesn’t he know you have to eat? Here, have my leftovers.

That’s it girls, it’s so quiet now. Ooh look, I banged out another page. I think I might even be closing in on an ending. Gotta pee—What’s that? One of those boutique mice I got on sale?

 Oh. My. God. Is it real? A mouse? And dead? We will never speak of this again, Bagel. 

*** Author’s Note *** Dear mouse loving friends, it looks like it was killed outside a while back. Don’t blame Bagel. Not even for the leg she brought me less than an hour later. Sharing is one of her survival strategies. 

There, the fireplace is on. I’ll just grab my mushroom coffee. I’m headed back to the doom scroll, praying for the swift return of hostages, and searching for seeds of peace I pray will grow eventually. Thank you for your healing with your soft, heavy heads in my lap, ears cockeyed, unknowing and trusting me to do it all again tomorrow.”