I realized reading my last couple of posts that I could be coming across as cynical, bitter and slightly jaded. The truth is, I have a pretty great life.
I have my fiancé, Dan, who is the best man I have ever met and I’m lucky enough that he puts up with all my crap and still finds me enchanting.
I have a good job that, while I can’t claim to love it, I at least feel is important and essential and pays me pretty well.
There is a roof over my head, food in the fridge and gas in the car.
I have family and friends who love me and I know I can count on when the chips are down.
And then there are my pets. My furry babies that I adore. If you’ve read my earlier posts, you know about the guinea pig, Chico. Then there is our cat, Phoebe. She grabbed my heart when Dan and I were walking through Petsmart and made the mistake of going by the adoptable pet area. Phoebe stared out of her plexiglass prison with these big green eyes and I fell for her.
Dan and I walked away from her because we didn’t think the dogs would like having a cat around (we were right). But then I started crying and Dan felt bad and so we ended up with a cat who has her own bedroom because the dogs chase her too much. Hey, at least it’s bigger than the plexiglass cage and we go in to play with her quite often. And I’m still convinced eventually a détente may be reached between feline and canine.
My big, goofy boy dog is Lucky. He has the happiest, spazziest personality I’ve ever seen in a dog. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t make me laugh.
I love all my creatures, great and small. But it’s my girl dog, Ellie, that makes me so glad to be a pet mom. She’s the one animal in my life that has captured a chunk of my heart so large, I know she is my soul-mutt.
From the moment Ellie gamboled over to me on her huge puppy paws, I was in love. I have documented her milestones like I would a human baby. I saved her puppy teeth. I threw her a first birthday party, complete with balloons and party hats. None of these things are particularly unusual these days when many people who are childless (by choice or chance) treat their pets like children.
What makes Ellie my soul-mutt is the connection we have. All it takes to make me feel better when I’m sick is for her to curl up next to me in bed. Her warmth and energy flows across me and I feel a wave of love that never fails to heal whatever ails me.
Ellie’s favorite way to start our day is to jump up on the bed and lay on top of me. All 75 pounds of her. This is a holdover from when she was a puppy and would curl up on my shoulder with her head tucked under my chin. These days she gets about 5 minutes of kisses in before I have to heave her off me and run for the bathroom because her doggie leg was digging into my bladder.
Today the routine was a little different. She climbed up on Dan’s pillow (he’d vacated his spot a bit earlier) and stretched her front half over my chest and face. The fact that I reveled in this (even though I was in danger of suffocating) just proves that she is, indeed, my soul-mutt.
I love her doggie smell. I could stroke her beautiful reddish gold fur all day if she let me. While I wouldn’t say she can do no wrong (she and Lucky once tore apart the entire living room, leaving behind snow drifts of paper and stuffing from cushions. Oh and there was carnage of a vintage Trixie Belden book, which I still curse them for), all she has to do is look at me with her beautiful golden eyes and cock her head and I melt.
My most content moments are spent with her cuddled up next to me on the couch. I rest my hand on her side and thank God or whoever for every breath she takes. She has the softest, floppiest ears and stroking them is the most soothing thing I know.
She is my proof that we all have a perfect match in this world, even if that match drags her ass across the carpet now and then.