Dogs

Dogs are cute all the time, or handsome, or gorgeous, or dashing, or majestic. Dogs are an attractive species, even the really goofy-looking breeds. They're loyal and they are good at so many different things. They can be good with kids, they can be protective guardians, they can be playful, they can be hard workers, they can be athletes. As far as I'm concerned, life is just better with dogs.

My family's first dog was a German Shephard/hound mix that my parents adopted from the shelter. He was very handsome, but had been terribly abused in his previous home. He tolerated my dad, but he LOVED my mother and I. He was a good boy.

My dog that I grew up with was probably the best dog I'll ever have. A purebred Rottweiller, he kept an eye out for me and my friends when we were little, grudgingly pulled us on a sled in the snow, he liked to play ball, he kept our house and home safe. He barked at trespassers, and he barked when my friends and I were getting too rough in our pillow fights - definitely an authority figure. He was also very sweet, and I was heartbroken when we had to put him down.

The dogs that my mom has now are ridiculous. They were surrendered from their home to the animal shelter, where we found them - a less adoptable pair their never was. First of all, pairs are hard to place because most people only want one dog. Big dogs are also less sought-after - these guys are each over 90 pounds. One is a Rottie mix (an unpopular breed), one has epilepsy (special needs). Both were 3 when we got them, most people want younger dogs. Still, they came home with us, and we haven't regretted it yet - even though they sleep on the furniture and have proven themselves as escape artists. They've goofy. They make my dad's spirit happy because they protect the house and look intimidating; they make my mom happy because they're BEYOND affectionate and they keep her busy. I like them because they have two of the most absurd personalities I have ever known.

My ex-girlfriend's dog, my stepdog, the one who is asleep in my lap right now and has been for this entire post - he's the inspiration for this little ramble. He is, as I've said, a 60-pound Black Lab mix. You can't really pick out anything about him other than Lab, but when you put him next to a purebred you know that he is waaaaay off the kennel club list. So he's a little mutt, little especially compared to the behemoths that live with my mom. He was rescued from a shelter in the South two years ago, when he was six months old, and my ex has had him ever since. He barks whenever anyone comes home, sometimes he barks at nothing, he gets overly excited and tears around the house, once in a while he oversteps his boundaries and tries to play rough with the cats (they don't put up with that for very long, though). But he is mostly a good boy. He fetches, he swims, he goes for long walks through the woods, he behaves himself when we take him to campus. I'm the only one who will let him on my bed, so he jumps up every chance he gets and snuggles with me during the day. At night he sleeps on the futon in my room, or once in a while curled up next to my pillows.

As I type this, sitting on my bed, he is completely zonked out with his head and paws in my lap. He breathes warm doggy air against my leg, and his ears and muzzle are extra-soft in that sleepy-dog way. I know he's not mine, and I know there's non-animal-lovers out there who don't get it. But really, life is just better with dogs.