Like the Pet Shop Boys once said, I want a dog.
But not a Chihuahua. I don’t ever want a dog a cat can beat the kibbles out of. I want a DOG-dog. Mid-size, solid, intimidating bark, mild-mannered, loyal, loving, soulful round eyes reflecting pink, bursting hearts: preferably a Golden Retriever.
I almost bought one three years ago. I was passing a pet store in a Tucson mall and there in the window was this panting, miserable, adorable, puppy-mill of a Golden Retriever – being sold for $2000. I just so happened to have $2000 at my disposal at the time and, by God, I was going to save this puppy! I was inside the store, with my credit card out, when I had a brief attack of conscience and thought, “I should probably call my fiancé first.” I called him, and he gently talked me down from the puppy ledge. He reminded me that, not only did we have our wedding coming up in two weeks, a pet is never something to be procured impulsively, rather this was something we should discuss, agree to and prepare for.
I put my credit card away and promised that fuzzy baby doggy face that I would be back the following weekend. But that next weekend I found out I was pregnant. And – as is so often the case in life – stork trumps dog.
Still, I think about that puppy so often. I wonder where he is now, what kind of life he’s had, and how he would have fit into our family. We could’ve made it work. After all, we made the surprise-surprise baby work, and that baby has bitten us, destroyed our belongings and shat on the rug – more than once. And she’s wonderful! People “make things work” all the time. But, with all the traveling I’m planning this year, I feel guilty just buying a houseplant.
I can’t have a dog.
But, oh, how I want a dog.
Addendum: My husband just sent me a lengthy email detailing why this is possibly the worst song he has ever heard in his life: “I think it made part of my brain go mushy.”
I guess that’s why the title of this blog isn’t “Hey everybody, listen to this brain-liquefying song!”