I love my dog. But sometimes I hate her. And by that I mean: I really love my dog. But…sometimes I hate her.
Scout is amazing, beloved, wonderful dog. If it weren’t so pathetic, I’d say she was my best friend. It is without hyperbole that I say she loves me more than anyone has ever loved me. Ever. More than my mother, my father, my husband and my children. Combined. Let’s just say that if I came home one day and Scout were dressed up in my clothing and make-up, Single White Female style, I’d be like: I KNEW IT, SCOUT. I KNEW THIS IS WHAT YOU DO WHEN I GO TO WORK.
Because I am nothing if not narcissistic, I love her obsession. She’s my own little Marky Mark in Fear but with less ab muscles and danger and more fur and separation anxiety. But in addition to Scout, I have two small children and a full time job and a house and a husband and a litany of other responsibilities. Having yet another thing who needs me is tough.
And, so, occasionally, I get annoyed with her. And sometimes I think about how much easier life would be if I didn’t have the extra responsibility of a dog to contend with. One day, when Scout and the kiddos were being difficult, I texted Nat something snarky like: “I’m getting rid of the dog.” And he texted back, in all seriousness, “But Dorothy. We love Scout.”
There is no gray area with Nat. I you love something, you continue to love that thing forever. Isn’t that a great way to be? I love being a witness to this. There is no complaining about the things he loves – his family, my family, our little beings. They, and the responsibility that comes with them, are fully accepted as fact.
And I keep that in my head. When she yodels or barks at food or won’t go to the bathroom when it’s raining outside and I am late for work and practically dragging her down the sidewalk, begging her to pee, I think, “We love Scout.” Because we do. She is ours. And she loves us so much. It’s an easy kind of love. Unconditional. We just have to walk her, feed her and not forget about her. That is so much less complicated than raising small children.
I don’t know why I forget that sometimes.