“Should we put a sweater on the dog?”Those are eight words that I never thought would cross my lips in that exact order. Yet as we prepared to take our puppy outside into the unseasonably pleasant January air this past Saturday, I uttered those words.And I was serious!I don’t hate dogs. When I see a dog I’m quick to pet it, play with it, talk to it, whatever. I didn’t want a dog of my own though. They smell, and they’re expensive, and they lick their butts and then want to “kiss” you, and you can’t leave home for too long because you have to get back to feed the dog or let it outside or keep it from gnawing on something valuable.Doesn't that sound great?I do hate dog sweaters though. Dog sweaters are a typical example of the effort to anthropomorphize our pets. We want to act like they’re human, so we dress them in clothes, or refer to ourselves as their parents, and call them our children.Actually—just for the record—my wife and I go out of our way to not refer to ourselves as our dog’s parents. I’m sorry, it’s just creepy.So how did I end up worried that my dog would be too cold without a sweater?Of course my kids have always wanted a dog. What kids don’t want a dog? But my wife and I presented a united “No Dog” front, and we kept a canine-free house rather easily.And then the united front began a sudden and speedy collapse.First my wife mentioned a cute dog she saw in a photo. Fine. Doesn’t mean we’re getting a dog.Then she began asking her friend—whose parents just happen to own a pet store, and who owns a dog and loves dogs—questions about certain breeds of dogs. Why is she asking questions about dogs?Then she began doing internet searches about dogs. Wait a minute, why is this pet finder website on our computer screen?Then she began exchanging e-mails with a breeder. Oh shit, is she serious?Then she showed me a picture of the dog available from her new breeder friend, and said, “I want to get it. Today.” This must be what the East Germans felt like when the Berlin Wall collapsed. So the entire family loaded into the van, drove two hours on a Sunday evening to the house of some nice woman who had two puppies for sale, and saw the dog’s actual mom (not human!), and one of those two puppies took an instant liking to my wife.Now that puppy lives in our house.
This is the part that always stumps me. Why on earth have we welcomed a wild beast to live in our house? Okay, maybe a toy poodle isn’t exactly a wild beast, but still, our ancestors created houses in part to avoid living with animals, and now, thousands of years later, we thumb our noses at those ancestors, and not only welcome the beast into our home, but use some of our resources to feed it, entertain it, and make sure it’s healthy.However, it turns out that this little dog isn’t a beast, and he’s fun to play with, and he’s lovable, and he’s funny, and he’s nice to have around. Yes, he’s sometimes inconvenient, like when I wake up at 6:15 on a Saturday morning so his routine isn’t changed while we’re trying to housebreak him, or when my wife can’t leave the room without him following her, or when my daughter can’t eat her peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the floor because he’ll try to take it from her.But the good outweighs the bad. The kids love him, and he loves them, but not as much as he loves my wife. And despite the early morning—and sometimes middle of the night—sleep interruptions, I’m glad we have him. He doesn’t take up a lot of room, he doesn’t smell, he doesn’t shed, and so far he hasn’t torn apart anything he shouldn’t tear apart.And I don’t even mind putting a sweater on him when it’s too cold outside.He can still keep his kisses to himself though.Now, just enter your e-mail, and I'll let you know when I write something new. I promise I won't send you any crap, and you can ditch me any time you want.
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