A friend had to go overseas for a month for work. He asked if his dog, George, could stay with us while they were away. George is an English Bulldog. I had met George and he seemed very nice. I was happy to have George come to stay. P (mad dog lover) was “stoked”.
So George is here. I had totally forgotten. I’d forgotten how you fall in love with them. I LOVE GEORGE. Now I remember other dogs I have loved.
Jasper the beagle. He was only with us for two days before his owners claimed him. His face at the end of the bed. Another night and he would have been up there.
Bundy the Samoyed. A rescue dog who came to us through a friend. He’d been with us for 5 days, and at his vet check-up he was diagnosed with heart worm. We handed over the $600 without a blink. We loved him. He was supposedly 10 when he came to us, but he lived for another 7 years, so that must have been wrong. That faithful fluff. I’m *crying* typing this. He died when I was pregnant with T.
I sort of thought that now that I had kids, I couldn’t fall in love with “mere animals” anymore. So wrong.
I’d met George. That whole bulldog look. He looked sort of grumpy – almost angry. He didn’t have a tail. He was hard to read. He seemed sedate enough.
He’s been here five days now. I feel like I know him. I talk to him all day: “You’re lovely, aren’t you??!! Oh yes, you’re great!! What a special boy you are!!” He snorts and snuffles back at me. I pat him and cuddle him so much, I stopped washing my hands days ago. I just can’t wash my hands that much. I kiss that grumpy forehead. A lot. I am, what you might call, “attached”.
And he, bless him, is sort of attached back. He snoozes a lot. But if the pack leader moves rooms, he moves his snooze to the room they’re in. That (unfortunately) is normally P. But P has gone to the Isle of Man, leaving me as undisputed pack leader. George moves his snooze to the room I’m in.
For the first two days I think George was in a bit of a depression. But then he seemed to perk up a bit, and blew my mind by demonstrating an ability to run. Like a cannonball, after that soccer ball. He popped it of course, but that didn’t stop the games. He brings the deflated ball, the rubber bone, the tug of war rope thing and presses them up against your leg. IIIIII’MMMMM REEEEAADYYY!!
And… I play! Of course I can’t beat him. The only person who can actually play a proper game is P. But, most likely to the amusement of the neighbours who share our backyard here, I can pull on the end of the toy, and throw it when I get the chance, with an accompanying one-woman commentary of “Whose got the ball! Whose got the ball! I’ve got the ball! Good boy, Good boy! Oh you’re strong!”
I love how he is another person, that P and I can sort of just look at each other when he “does something” – just to share the joy of his existence. Just like we do with the kids. But with George we can also look at the kids when he “does something” – just to share the joy of his existence.
T: I like George. He doesn’t do much. But even just his face is fun.
J: I think George is my favourite dog in the world.
We’d already decided that we were going to get a dog when we got home. We have to give George back. Only because it is in George’s best interests, you understand. Otherwise you wouldn’t see us for dust.