The transition into being ‘that guy’ when it comes to my dog was a subtle one.
I think the process of going through a psyche shattering breakup was the catalyst for developing a better (if not creepily devoted) relationship with the being that I spend the majority of my time with. It’s not that I didn’t love him before; he and I bonded really quickly post adoption and he became a pretty important fixture in my life.
But in the last few months we’ve just sort of developed this amazing little groove that fits for both of us. My last entry talked about insomnia; one of the benefits (and it sucks that there has to be benefits of never sleeping) is that the Sweeze and I can go for late night walks. The extra exercise does well for him and, combined with my ‘Night Sky’ app has encouraged me hope for clear skies and no crackheads asking for change at four am.
We can go for early morning walks before the heat starts bearing down on him (I can’t wait for the fall… sweater weather for the pooch. Sweaters + Bailey = cute overload) and when walks are overrated we can lay in the bed- usually with him curled up like a noodle at my side with his head or paw resting on me.
My phone has hundreds of pictures of him in the special Bailey gallery. My floor has evidence of his rascalism in the form of stinky squeaky toys that he’s attacked and discarded.
When I have to leave town I fuss over the details of getting his sitter (the awesome Anna who always goes above and beyond when she watches him) all sorted out. When I’m gone I miss him more than I would have thought, checking in with Anna to make sure he’s happy. Luckily he’s a pretty happy little fellow.
Initially after the breakup he developed some behavioral problems; not responding to verbal commands that he’s learned, wetting his crate, wetting the floor. waiting obsessively by the window every time he heard a car horn. I realized that I had been his alpha and my ex was his… cuteness enabler? I’m not really sure how else to describe it. I was the one that took him to the vet, taught him how to sit, took him on longer walks, and she was the one that cooed sweet affirmations to him. When she left- he only had half of the equation. I had to relearn how to relate to him. Add a little softness to it.
Things improved quickly with him.
When I get home his tail is whipping back and forth so hard I worry that he’s going to take off and start flying. When we go on our walks I catch him looking up at me for affirmation, which I freely give. My life is better because of my creepy, stinky little best friend.
Photo: I chew on Bailey.