Photo by Stacy Murison
I’ve always wanted a dog. In some of my daydreams, the dog is a cheerful, white and gold fur, blue-bandana-wearing Corgi named Joe. In others, she’s a sweet, gray and white Pitbull named Mira. When I was little, my parents gifted me a dog for Christmas, so I named her Noel. Our love affair was not long-lasting after she dug a hole so deep in the backyard my father fell in and sprained his ankle. Thankfully, some neighbors a few streets over were willing to adopt her, but I never saw her again.
Many of my friends in Flagstaff have dogs and sometimes, I have the good fortune of dog sitting when they travel out of town. My recent adventure involved my friend’s dog, Vinny. Vinny is exactly how you might remember the film star, Benji, but with gray and white fur. In fact, every time I met new people on my walks around the neighborhood, they would comment on how much Vinny resembled Benji. I guess those of us who are of a certain age can remember how sweet that scrappy little movie star pupper was. While researching the dog and the films, I learned that Benji’s real name was Higgins, which doesn’t sit well with me. No other name but Benji will do.
Anyway, Vinny was the perfect gentleman on our first full day together. We enjoyed idyllic walks around my friend’s neighborhood and, unlike other dogs I’ve watched, he didn’t eat any wayward street trash. Maybe that wasn’t a fair judgement of character; the other dogs lived near restaurants, so pizza crusts and pieces of ice cream cones were plentiful. In Flagstaff now, pickings are slim, street debris reduced to pinecones and some cinders left over from our snowstorms that the street sweepers have missed. Nothing as delectable as discarded carbohydrates.
After some cuddle time on the sofa reading, it was time for bed. Although he has a big pillowy bed in the living room, my friend told me that Vinny often sleeps in the bed with her. Like so many of my dog daydreams where dogs are the perfect human companion, I imagined him as a sweet circle of fur keeping my feet warm. But I woke in the middle of the night, freezing, and my body pushed almost off the bed as Vinny slept diagonally, his leathery front paws on my shoulders. At first, I thought it was hilarious, and shoved him just so, trying to regain some bedspace. After a long-suffering sigh and what sounded like a human grumble, he moved just enough for me to move back to center, steal some blankets, and fall back asleep. In the morning, I was huddled at the edge of the bed again, but I resolved to be firm with him when we went to bed later.
That’s the thing about animals, though. It’s one thing to believe I’ll have some kind of “firm resolve” with our next encounter, but it’s never meant to be. I simply love animals too much and the idea of discipline is challenging to me. Even now as I write this article, my cat, Stuart, has budged his way between me and the keyboard, effectively pinning my hands so that I can only move my fingers. He head butts my wrist, hoping for more pats than I’m able to give right now. There’s no use telling him I’m on a deadline; what is time after all but a human construct?
As the week went on, I had to confront my idealized relationship with dogs to reality with dogs. Vinny often had a mind of his own and set the direction for and pace of our walks. While I imagined some leisurely strolls around the neighborhood, Vinny wanted to chase crows and people riding bicycles. This made my desire to take him to Frances Short Pond to watch ducks and osprey evaporate. Every little Chihuahua he encountered, he ignored, and instead he tried to befriend all of the big German shepherds. There wasn’t a blade of grass for a five-block radius that he didn’t try to eat or pee on, even while other homeowners stared sternly at me as he sniffed their liriope and ivy. “Beautiful tulips,” I’d tell them, as Vinny and I played a gentle game of tug-of-war with his leash.
After one such taxing evening walk, I settled into bed, but this time moved Vinny to the foot of the bed. “No,” I told him as he tried to walk up the mattress to spoon with me. On the third “no,” he huffed and sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, where he curled up with a blanket and fell asleep. I felt guilty, but somehow managed to fall asleep. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I surprised myself by patting the mattress until he jumped up and curled behind my knees. His furry body made the back of my knees sweat, but I didn’t dare move and upset our détente.
It was hard saying farewell to Vinny when my friend returned from her trip. He stood and stared at me as though I was forgetting something as I walked out the front door. When I returned home, Stuart looked at me like the traitor I was (or perhaps I imagined his intent) and proceeded to sit on my husband’s lap all night while staring at me. As I tucked into my own bed for the first time in a week, I marveled at the amount of space I had. Soon enough, I felt something wet on my cheek. Stuart, who almost never sleeps with me, had taken it upon himself to lick the smell of dog off my face while gently purring. His body took up most of my pillow, my neck craned at an uncomfortable angle. I fell back asleep knowing that I would wake with a sore neck, but also thinking how lucky I am to know such loving animals.
