I’ve always been a dog lover and even used to want one of my own.
I’ve filed that idea away for the time being, though.
My husband had said no to a dog for many years because of his allergies. Then one day, out of the blue he agreed that I could finally get the Dachshund that I had always been begging him for, as long as he didn’t have to walk it or clean up after it. I said, “What about your allergies?” To which he replied, “Benadryl.”
So, I had immersed myself in a search for a canine companion. I had been searching rescue websites and asking around for about a week, when 2 things happened.
First of all, Ray happened. Ray Darr. The rabbit that, I have surmised, was probably found abandoned because Satan had thrown the hairy little troublemaker out of hell. My husband declared that if Ray stayed, the idea of getting a dog was out.
Then my step daughter’s dog Athena came to spend a night at our house.
When I stuck my head into the girls’ room that night, the smell of dog was so overwhelming that my anxiety went through the roof. That’s when I realized that while I may have made great strides of improvement in the OCD department, my issues still weren’t ready to face dog ownership.
I was rather saddened by this until my daughter pointed out that we do, in fact, have dogs. Two of them. They just don’t bark or need to be taken outside regularly like your customary canines, which makes them that much better.
You see, Ray Darr thinks he’s a dog.
He digs holes:
Yeah, don’t try to look innocent.
He goes for rides:
He gives kisses:
He has his own harness and leash so we can take him for walks, where he knocks people down and jumps on them:
Then, if he doesn’t claw the flesh right off your legs begging when he knows you have food of any kind, he just plain steals it:
So you see he’s not really a rabbit, he’s just a rabbit-shaped dog.
And then there’s Lizzie:
Now, don’t let her lack of fur fool you. She’s just your average pooch in so many ways.
She’ll flop down on top of her house for afternoon naps:
She’ll lie in awkward positions:
She’ll climb on top of things that she shouldn’t:
(I guess the secret’s out. Now you know who writes most of my blog posts.)
She’ll knock stuff over and then look guilty:
You can put food on top of her head and command her to stay:
And she begs, too. Her tank sits near our dining room table, and at dinner time, she’ll rush over to the corner, mash her little face up against the glass, and start clawing until we notice her.
Then, either me or my bleeding heart, animal junkie daughter or will get her out and let her join us for dinner:
Yep, that’s the dinner scene most nights at our house.
She’ll eat pretty much anything, too, because she’s just a dog in a lizard suit.
So I guess, in reality, I am a dog owner.
No matter how unconventional my canines happen to be.