Like a Dog

I have two dogs. Alright, maybe I have one dog and one diva. That’s the thing about dogs. They’re just as unique as people. Each one has their own personality. Each one has their own attitude. My dogs’ names are Daisy and Leia, named for two princesses that I’m a fan of. (Yes, I’m  a nerd. I know.)

Daisy is the type of dog that doesn’t think she’s a dog. She’s a chihuahua/terrier that looks something like a yorkie but with big ears and ranks among the cutest things you’ve ever seen. Ten pounds of adorable wrapped up with a ton of attitude. When I tell her to do something or not to do something, she knows exactly what I’m saying and sometimes chooses not to listen. Like I said, she thinks she’s a human. She believes it’s her right to sleep on the bed, get attention, walk at her speed, and go to the bathroom wherever she pleases.

Despite her feeling that way, she has a big heart. She’ll love anyone willing to stop and say hello. She’s never met human or fellow animal that was her enemy. Her affection has no limits. Other dogs and people are her favorite, but she has also made friends with cats, rabbits, and frogs (in her own way whether they were willing or not.) Daisy is definitely a lap dog and gives hugs like no other animal I’ve met. If I’m having a good day, she will cuddle and cuddle. If I’m having a bad day, she will still cuddle and cuddle with a want to make me feel better. I can tell in the way her eyes look me right in mine, seeing past my face, and in her need to be a little bit closer than usual.

Leia is a cocker spaniel/lhasa apso and is not the brightest crayon in the box. It takes her a little bit of time to understand what you’re saying. She’ll wrap the leash around your legs and pull you down when you’re walking her. Her clumsiness is immeasurable, including running into walls and tripping over her own feet. This trait makes her endearing, though. Her fur gets everywhere. It’s long and white and covers everything. She also can be a little agressive. Her aim is never to hurt, but just to tell them to bug off. This has only ever been against other animals, not against humans, and it always surprises me because of how out of character it is.

To Leia’s credit, a lot of these things aren’t really her choice (so I can’t hold them against her) and she knows she’s a dog. She sleeps on the bed, but at the foot of it, as though she knows it’s a privilege to be there at, not her right, and she’s grateful. Her happiness and forgiveness are boundless. If I accidentally step on her because she’s lingering around my legs, she doesn’t cower away. A big smile spreads across her face and she approaches me, tail ever wagging, as if to say, “That’s alright. You didn’t mean to.” Leia has eyes that look right into the soul. Her cuddling is limited, but she will touch her nose to my face when she senses I’m upset.

Daisy and Leia didn’t get along in the beginning. I’m pretty sure Leia would start the fights when I first got her. Daisy would keep them going longer than necessary. No one ever got hurt, thank goodness. Fights haven’t broken out in a long time, and they actually act like they like each other now, so I think we’re past that stage. They seem to only have the capacity to grow closer from this point on.

They know who I am and love me unconditionally, which is something I love about dogs. They recognize me on sight, or maybe smell, and hurricane winds ensue from the speed of their tails wagging. Their happiness brightens my day, no matter what has happened during it. If I need a good cry or someone to listen to something really stupid I have on my mind, they’ll always be a shoulder and listen. (I do have two legged friends that will listen too, but that’s not the point.) My dogs drive me crazy sometimes. (You can go to the bathroom anywhere on the ground outside, so just go! You don’t need to sniff around for five hours. No not inside!) They will only be around for maybe a quarter of my life or less, but they have taught and will teach me so much.

Oh, to love like a dog.