Why must I share my bed with a 90-pound canine? Why must I share the couch with same said canine? Why must the canine follow my every move around the house? I can’t even go to the bathroom alone. It’s like having a toddler all over again; I trip over him when I come out.
It’s loyalty. It’s love, devotion, and hope that I will share my food with him. My dog likes bread, I give him the crusts off my sandwiches, he’s spoiled rotten.
I didn’t mean for him to become codependent on me, I didn’t mean to become the alpha human, but it happened anyway. I guess he just knows that the Mom is the kingpin. I’m the one from whom all blessings flow. (All the Methodists can sing along!)
And the best part? He barks like he’s going to eat any bad guy that comes around me, but my sister’s chihuahua is much more likely to actually bite. Samson is all bark. He’s scared of the vacuum cleaner. He hid between my legs the other day after he was dive-bombed by a locust. It was hilarious. I screamed like a girl, but hey, I am a girl.
This is going nowhere.
Three cheers for our best friends, for dog hair on all our clothes, and for complete and total love from a furry being.