Dogs

Ten years ago, when we were young and full of energy, and had our entire life ahead of us, Mr. Incredible and I got a dog. His name was Buster and he really was a good dog, as far as dogs go. However, Mr. Incredible and I agreed that when Buster died, that was it. He would be our one and only dog, and as much as we loved him, we knew that we wouldn’t ever have another dog again. And then Buster died.

Within a week, I was driving eight hours to pick up a puppy from somewhere near the Canadian border. Why? I LOVE dogs. I could not live without him. I missed the barking and the muddy footprints and stepping on him every time I walked up the stairs with a basket of laundry. I hated walking into an empty home. Basically, I missed Buster and convinced myself that my love for him extended to the entire canine species. In this time of extreme grief, I lost my mind, forgot I said we would never have another dog, and fell head over heels in love with a puppy I found on the internet.

So, this puppy, now called Barlow, lives with us, and as far as puppies go, he’s not too bad. He understands my need for sleep, and rarely chews anything of importance. The kids love him, and he’s practically house broken. He’s everything you would want in a ball of fur. He and I get along pretty well, and while he’s no Buster, he’s a good companion, or so I thought.

I am his favorite person. I think it’s because we spend so much time together and because I’m the one who usually feeds him, but I make sure Mr. Incredible thinks it is because I’m the superior human in the home. I am pack leader, and while not every human in the home realizes that, the dog certainly does. Every night when I crawl into bed, Barlow jumps up and lays right next to me. A few nights ago, I made Mr. Incredible call him from his side of the bed just to prove to him, once again, how much this dog adores me. Barlow didn’t move. He barely lifted his head before nuzzling even closer to me. It was an extremely rewarding demonstration. I had definitively proven that an animal, who happily eats goose poop, loves me more. I went to sleep feeling loved and validated.

The next morning I awoke, Barlow loyally beside me, when #1 walked into the room.

“There’s poop all over you,” he said nonchalantly.

I sat up, and sure enough I was laying under a pile of dog shit. The dog, who loves me best, had gotten up in the middle of the night and taken a crap on me. I think it’s a sign of respect. We are never getting another dog. I can’t deal with that much love.