[This post was originally published by Thought Catalog at www.thoughtcatalog.com on May 13, 2015. To see the post in all of its Thought Catalog-y Glory, you can click here. Or just read on…]
Your dog walks faster and starts to circle. You know what’s next. He looks straight ahead, concentrates on his task. Sensing your own unfixed, awkward eyes, you wonder, where am I supposed to look while this is happening? You must decide, so choose wisely.
He keeps me company
while I drink my coffee,
while I work,
while I garden.
He is attentive
and I Know That It’s Love.
He entertains me
with hilarious outbursts,
when he sees something he likes
or finds something new.
He is goofy
and I Know That It’s Love. Continue reading
Good morning, buddy.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
Did you sleep okay?
Sniff-iff-iff-iff. Sniffff.
Do you want to go outside?
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
I write at a faux cherry stained wood desk from Office Max. Though a chair and lap would suffice. My fingers glide across a keyboard like a pianist’s on a piano.
I get a whiff of Fresh Linen Febreeze or Calming Lavender in my selective nostrils, but you may catch a hint of dog or the stubborn scent of the house’s previous owners that I’ve labeled as “old people”.
Somehow light gets through an eastern facing window, by dodging the smudges from unprofessionally cleaned window panes or refracting through tiny rips in the block shade that I routinely pull down to the floor until the force sends the vinyl back up, spinning around the reel. Never settling in at the desired height.
If you know my halo-donning eighty pound puppy who greets you at full speed with a nose-inspection of your pant pockets, you are immediately shocked that this lovable creature would be unfairly banned from all franchise locations of Central Bark for the rest of his life. While the specifics of the “incident” that led to his dismissal were never fully disclosed to me, I’ve concluded that an employee’s ineptitude or another dog’s provocation forced Mack to engage in said inappropriate behavior. I also have suspicions revolving around the manager’s efforts to permanently remove a blog post titled, Dogs Hump #Fact, from the World Wide Web once he discovers the author’s identity. Whatever the case may be, Mack is entirely faultless.
During most of my visits to the dog park, I witness the following chain of events. Two dogs will see, sniff and chase each other. They’ll stop to catch their breath. One dog takes the opportunity to jump on the rear end of the other and thrust a few times. The humping will continue until A1) The owner of the humping dog yells at him to stop or B2) The owner of the humpee pulls the humper off. The owner of the humper will pull him away from the crowd, scold them, grab his collar and say No! The owner of the humpee will look extremely offended and coddle the violated puppy. (These two owners will also hate the rest of this blog post.)
This will all happen, unless My Dog is the one involved in the little tryst. If he’s doing the humping, I’m cheering him on. If he’s being humped, I’m thinking that he probably deserved it or that he’ll let the other guy know if he’s not enjoying it. The people who know that it’s my dog involved in this salacious act are giving me dirty looks, while the more proactive anti-humpers are already taking names at the scene of the crime.
This post is dedicated to Murphy, a comforting and calm four-legged friend who hung out at the Webster house from June 28, 1998 until October 6, 2010.
The day before Mack came into my life, I had a blow out fight with my boyfriend about how much I DID NOT want a dog. The money! The time! The responsibility! Not to mention dog hair, dog farts and dog poop. Gross.
When dreaming of the smooth, well-sloped, 
gray goodness that was my soon-to-be new driveway, I never anticipated the two weeks ahead of me. Unless you will be installing a new driveway while living in a bubble, please read below so that you’ll be more prepared than me:
Carve out at least 30 minutes per day that you will devote to power washing the driveway. Your feet and the bottom of your pants will get wet. I recommend Crocs and capris.
Just when you think you’ve gotten rid of the brown berries that leave stains, a new enemy will fall from the trees. Small pieces of evergreen will fall on your driveway and cling to your newly layed driveway like a lost kid to a stranger’s leg. Sweeping is not enough to get rid of them. You will actually be crawling on your hands and knees, picking these things up with a tweezers.
Miss Early Bird 