At The End of a Crummy Day

Yesterday was a crummy day. I woke up late. The check didn’t arrive. My car was recalled. I spent an hour at the DMV.

When I returned home, I found that my sweet, reliable pup had had accidents all over the house, including across my lovely white sofa.

Yet, all I could think about was how to comfort her. To feel her nose for the cool comfort of health. To look in her eyes for any sign of distress. The rest of the day no longer mattered. Only her.

It reminded me of an essay I wrote about her long ago, when she was brand new:

Whoever said that diamonds are a girl’s best friend has never owned a puppy.

Plumpy and wriggly and innocent--all pink tongue and pink tummy and little needle teeth, and pink paws, and pink nose and puppy breath—they are heat seeking missiles of fur.

And puppy eyes—oh my.

My pup is an accidental rescue named Luna, a fourteen-pound bundle of bubble and squeak who oozes unconditional love. When I come through the door after putting out the sprinkler or filling the bird feeder, Luna greets me with the same joy as when I return from, say Antarctica.

At night, she spoons with me, wriggling so close that she slowly shovels me to the edge of the bed. She simply can’t get close enough. During the day, she follows me from room to room and curls in the nearest patch of sunlight. My sunlit shadow.

Luna hates my computer and pokes her nose under my hands when I have been writing for too long. She takes me for walks and reminds me to sniff the flowers—or anything really. Dogs are irrepressible sniffers. As she noses the roots, she has taught me to pause and nose the flowers.

Dogs get us off the couch and into the fresh. They bring us their favorite toy and remind us that play is an essential part of the day. They bound after sticks and balls and squirrels with joy that is unstoppable, generous, contagious. And they introduce us to a community of other dogs and their owners. Whether along a trail or at a park, dog owners share a secret smile.

Cats don’t need us much, and they make that clear. We can disappear for several days, and they do their business in indoor boxes, drink out of the toilet, and reluctantly accept the dry food left out for them.

Then they shred the sofa as payback for neglect.

Other adorable pets, like rabbits and hamsters and chinchillas mostly wish the humans in their lives would please leave them alone. Especially the toddlers.

Fish—meh.

I guess the bottom line is that everyone needs to feel needed, and dogs are delightfully needy. When our dogs get sick, we do crazy first world things to keep them with us for as long as possible. We consider cataract surgery and chemo. We build wheeled contraptions when they can no longer walk. When they die, we grieve the loss of their uncomplicated love, and vow never to risk giving our hearts to another dog.

Six months later we visit a shelter and fall in love again.

If only we could do the same with human relationships--just wander into a shelter of the love-needy and allow someone to choose us.