by Dorri Olds
I reached for my iPhone right-handed while holding Buddy’s leash in my left. It was my best friend, Maddy. I launched into a tirade. “If one more person asks me what kind of dog Buddy is I’m going to scream.”
“Why?”
“I’ve walked one block and four people…”
“It’s because he’s so cute.”
I imitated passersby in falsetto, “‘Oooh, what’s his name? How old is he? Where did you get him?’ When they ask what breed he is I have to say, ‘Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.’ It’s a mouthful and they never get it. ‘What kind?’ After three or four times I get so sick of chewing my cabbage twice I start barking, ‘He’s a MUTT!’”
“I think they’re just being friendly.”
“I don’t want friendly. I want to be left alone. For Pete’s sake, I work twelve-hour days. When I take a break I need peace and quiet.”
“Peace and quiet? You live in New York City! Maybe you need to work less so you won’t be so cranky.”
“Cranky? CRANKY?”
* * *
Buddy came into my life seven years ago, right after a devastating split. I’d found out the guy was married and the breakup nearly broke me. I felt splintered, defective, and out-of-order. Depression yanked me down and that’s where I stayed, wallowing.
One day, still telling everyone who’d listen how doomed I was, I ran into a neighbor who said. “You need a puppy. It’ll change everything.” I looked down at her dog. “He’s a Blenheim Cavalier King Charles Spaniel,” she said proudly.”
He had soft white fur with cow-like patches of auburn brown. His ears flopped like a beagle. He looked about the size of a cocker spaniel, but shrunken like a T-shirt in a dryer. His long lashes and dark eyes made him look like Bambi. When I smiled at him his tail wagged frantically and rhythmically like a windshield wiper.
I mulled over my neighbor’s suggestion. I called Maddy to discuss. “Puppies are a huge responsibility. You have to be home all the time.” I said.
“You’re home all the time anyway!”Hmm, she had a point. I work at my Mac in my living room. My only commute is to trek to the kitchen for snacks. I began to weigh the pros and cons of getting a dog. I thought about my ex and how much I’d wanted a baby with him. I ruminated. Pets are expensive—con. The cost of a dog pales in comparison to raising a kid. There’d be no braces—pro. No college tuition—Pro. He’d never wreck a car—Pro! Pro!
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I reached for my iPhone right-handed while holding Buddy’s leash in my left. It was my best friend, Maddy. I launched into a tirade. “If one more person asks me what kind of dog Buddy is I’m going to scream.”
“Why?” “I’ve walked one block and four people…”
“It’s because he’s so cute.”
I imitated passersby in falsetto, “‘Oooh, what’s his name? How old is he? Where did you get him?’ When they ask what breed he is I have to say, ‘Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.’ It’s a mouthful and they never get it. ‘What kind?’ After three or four times I get so sick of chewing my cabbage twice I start barking, ‘He’s a MUTT!’”
“I think they’re just being friendly.”
“I don’t want friendly. I want to be left alone. For Pete’s sake, I work twelve-hour days. When I take a break I need peace and quiet.”
“Peace and quiet? You live in New York City! Maybe you need to work less so you won’t be so cranky.”
“Cranky? CRANKY?”
* * *
Buddy came into my life seven years ago, right after a devastating split. I’d found out the guy was married and the breakup nearly broke me. I felt splintered, defective, and out-of-order. Depression yanked me down and that’s where I stayed, wallowing.
One day, still telling everyone who’d listen how doomed I was, I ran into a neighbor who said. “You need a puppy. It’ll change everything.” I looked down at her dog. “He’s a Blenheim Cavalier King Charles Spaniel,” she said proudly.”
He had soft white fur with cow-like patches of auburn brown. His ears flopped like a beagle. He looked about the size of a cocker spaniel, but shrunken like a T-shirt in a dryer. His long lashes and dark eyes made him look like Bambi. When I smiled at him his tail wagged frantically and rhythmically like a windshield wiper.
I mulled over my neighbor’s suggestion. I called Maddy to discuss. “Puppies are a huge responsibility. You have to be home all the time.” I said.
“You’re home all the time anyway!”Hmm, she had a point. I work at my Mac in my living room. My only commute is to trek to the kitchen for snacks. I began to weigh the pros and cons of getting a dog. I thought about my ex and how much I’d wanted a baby with him. I ruminated. Pets are expensive—con. The cost of a dog pales in comparison to raising a kid. There’d be no braces—pro. No college tuition—Pro. He’d never wreck a car—Pro! Pro!
Read more:
