I admit it, I'm a victim of my own pressure. I didn't feel any pressure and was never overtly asked to open my home again to my son's dog. Yup, son is back, moved home (again) and I'm glad to have him here.
But I'm not supposed to have a dog.
But if I don't, he'll go with my daughter's former Significant Other, who will take good care of him, but may get a corporate transfer at any time, and there will go Gage, out of our lives.
I thought twice. I really did. Vet bills. Possible issues with my own allergies. One more mouth to feed.
He's back!!! He's really here again, and he is the world's best dog. I don't want to hear from any of you that yours are better. Because really, no one can compare.
I drudged up the ode I wrote to Gage almost three years ago, when I got to babysit him for a week. And here it is:
INFATUATED WITH A GUY
It’s been a long time since I’ve spent the whole weekend with someone new. I’m trying not to get carried away. Never mind that his eyes, big and brown, with topaz flecks that match his coat – never mind that they sparkle in the daytime and manage to look soft and sultry when he’s drifting off to sleep. He’s in great shape and he carries himself well; heavily muscled, he moves with an easy grace.
But what I really love is his sense of humor and his willingness to play with abandon. He’s delighted to be with me, and for this weekend, I’m the center of his universe. He views what we eat and drink this weekend with unmitigated wonder; I know he’d compliment me if he could. He’s often distracting if I’m on the phone or busy with chores; he’ll amble into the room and I can’t help stopping whatever I’m doing to take him in. For a moment, the earth stands still.
In quiet moments, it is enough for him to sit close, to touch a little, to move when I move, to indicate his desires by prodding my hand with his nose. Yes, with his nose.
He’s my son’s dog, Gage. Never has there been a better looking American Staffordshire. Others can call him a Pit Bull, but I know that, by his demeanor, his pride, his self-containment, and his unmitigated affection (yes, Gage loves the one he’s with) that he’s way too gentle and affectionate to be a part of that ordinary breed. Most of all, I love laughing at him whenever he charges in from doing his business….I’ve not seen such excitement since the turn of the milennium.
They’ll be home today from their trip. Sigh. They’ll take him with them and I’ll only see him for a minute or two every other week or so. OK, OK, he’s my granddog. You’re telling me I’ll feel this same way when they have kids? I hope so.
But what I really love is his sense of humor and his willingness to play with abandon. He’s delighted to be with me, and for this weekend, I’m the center of his universe. He views what we eat and drink this weekend with unmitigated wonder; I know he’d compliment me if he could. He’s often distracting if I’m on the phone or busy with chores; he’ll amble into the room and I can’t help stopping whatever I’m doing to take him in. For a moment, the earth stands still.
In quiet moments, it is enough for him to sit close, to touch a little, to move when I move, to indicate his desires by prodding my hand with his nose. Yes, with his nose.
He’s my son’s dog, Gage. Never has there been a better looking American Staffordshire. Others can call him a Pit Bull, but I know that, by his demeanor, his pride, his self-containment, and his unmitigated affection (yes, Gage loves the one he’s with) that he’s way too gentle and affectionate to be a part of that ordinary breed. Most of all, I love laughing at him whenever he charges in from doing his business….I’ve not seen such excitement since the turn of the milennium.
They’ll be home today from their trip. Sigh. They’ll take him with them and I’ll only see him for a minute or two every other week or so. OK, OK, he’s my granddog. You’re telling me I’ll feel this same way when they have kids? I hope so.
****************************************************
