Dog Love 1

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Almost all my friends have dogs. Some have one, some have two, and some have three.
 
My closest childhood friend has two aging lady dogs. The older one she rescued from the streets of Los Angeles when she was already at a very advanced age and infested with all kinds of exotic parasites and illnesses. Madam Mika now spends her days in diapers, dragging her hind legs from one side of the living room to the other to check her food bowl and bark at the occasional pedestrian who passes by the house. The younger one was rescued from a cruel and thoughtless neighbor. This dog now spends her days barking at squirrels, sleeping, and going for long walks twice a day. Both female dogs are totally indifferent to me and treat me like I don't exist when I visit, except for a few lackluster barks upon my arrival. However, I did notice that they have the better sitting arrangements in the house, and that my entertainment heavily depends on their feeding and walking schedule.

Another friend of mine used to have three dogs; two tall English Setters with gigantic droopy ears and one unidentifiable black mix who was considered the smartest of the pack. When I used to come see her, the English gents would bark their heads off as soon as they heard the doorbell, and the moment the door opened, shove their long faces at me and drool their sticky saliva all over my pants. It was not fun, although my friend found it hysterically funny. One of the Setters ended up developing a terrible disease and had to be put down. It was a sad moment for my friend, but she knew it was coming and prepared herself for his departure.

 Surprisingly, though, the surviving Setter never seemed to miss his friend or look for him, probably because he has no sense of time, my friend explained. The black dog had to be put down not too long afterward. He suffered a stroke that caused him to lose his eyesight and develop frightening late night seizures. Now my friend is left with one Setter, who seems to generate very few stories, so I assume he is doing fine.

I have another girlfriend who has three spoiled yellow labs, each fatter and friendlier than the other. They also bark their heads off in excitement when I approach the door, and the moment she opens the door they happily shove their heads into my crotch and sniff me, making sure I am one of their female tribe. They push each other trying to get to me, and their wagging tails hit me so hard, I feel my legs turn black and blue under my pants. These labs have the best life. They sleep in my friend’s king size bed overlooking the Monterey Bay and eat incredible food she cooks for them every single day of the year. I eat toast standing at my kitchen counter. I once told her that I would have loved to be her dog, sleep in her bed, eat her food, and not suffer any consequences for bad behavior. I think her fabulous cooking gives them bad gas, because many times after we finish enjoying a meal, a strange smell invades her living room and nearly suffocates me. I know it doesn't come from her. She is a tiny Thai woman who eats like a bird. She would probably kill herself before letting anything like this come out of her body. However, when I bring that smell to her attention, all she does is laugh and scold her labs in the most loving, nonjudgmental voice.

The last couple of days I spent with a friend who has two large dogs she found at the pound: a big black one and a yellow something. She claims that the dogs bring her endless love and happiness. She also has a loving husband and a very good marriage. These dogs are also the crotch sniffing kind that bark at flies and lick your face when you sleep on the couch, and drop a ball in your lap 50,000 times no matter how many times you tell them you are not going to throw it anywhere for them and "Please leave me alone." 

Their greetings include jumping on me and putting their paws on my shoulders!!! And each one weighs probably 90 pounds. Yet, my friend claims they are the embodiment of joy to and she loves them so much, and the kind of love you get from a dog is the most precious love.

I tell her I'd rather have human love.

She laughs at me.

I say, "Of course your dogs love you. You feed them."

She insists that their love is unconditional.

But I want verbal love, not barks and sniffs and farts and stupid tennis balls on my lap.

She says I should adopt a dog if I want to feel true love.

I tell her "Over my dead body."