by Patti
This past holiday weekend, M brought home a puppy.
Yes, I fainted, too.
M is the Grinch of the Universe; he is the only human being alive that is completely unmoved by fluffy white puppies. So when he miraculously agreed over last Labor Day weekend that S could finally! FINALLY! have a dog for her birthday in April, S and I had seizures and then hugged and then promptly began daydreaming about what kind of dog we would get. We have both been eyeing puppies online pretty much non-stop, researching different breeds, and excitedly coming up with names.
The plan was to wait until April, when S turns 11 (ELEVEN!), because by then she will magically shift from child to a dependable, practical adult, and will be able to handle all of the responsibilities that come with owning a dog. That, and also: M was hoping to buy time. You see, even though he agreed to let S have a dog, I know him well enough to know that he was also secretly hoping she would just "forget" about that longed-for dog. We are now 3.5 months away from "D" (as in Dog) Day, and nope, she hasn't forgotten. Not at all.
So M went to Plan B. He brought home a dog. He called me last Thursday at work and asked me if it would be okay if we could take care of his co-worker's French Bulldog for 4 days. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? OF COURSE IT WOULD BE OKAY! He asked me to keep it a secret from S, and I nearly died from secret-holding induced implosion until he finally showed up. S heard M at the back door, and she turned to find him standing there with a creamy-colored alien that rode a magical spaceship from Planet Adorable and landed on our back deck. M slid open the door and S was completely freaked out. I could tell she thought she was hallucinating, but she wasn't! There was a real! Live dog! Standing! In our house! And he was so cute it hurt! "This is Homie", said M. Homie wiggled and snorted towards us, and we fell in love. Like, right then and there.
And this is where M's Plan B began to unravel. You see, I also know M well enough to know that he was hoping that by bringing this dog home, S and I would both realize just how hard it is to have a dog. After all, owning a dog means taking him out all the time to pee and poop, it means getting up earlier than you want to because the dog is hungry, or has to pee, or wants to play, or feels lonely; it means giving up certain freedom and making certain sacrifices. But M's ploy was useless. We already knew this, and have been planning for this, and preparing for this. What M didn't plan for was falling in love.
That Grinch, the one who abhors shaky, white, fluffy puppies and might just serve them up as hors d' oeuvres, fell in love with a dog for the first time in his life. That dog sat by him on our couch and watched TV with him. That dog brought M his "tug-o-war" rope and plopped it into his lap, and M played with him. That dog snorted, snored, farted, and tracked dirt into the house, and M didn't have a thousand heart attacks.
We returned Homie to his owner yesterday, and the house already feels more empty. But I get the feeling it won't be for long. Thank you, Homie. You don't realize it, but you opened a heart that thought it was closed.
