Top dog is weekend visitor at my house

We have no pets! It is weird how that happened.

We have no pets!

It is weird how that happened.

Our house, once all busy and noisy with kids and telephones ringing and a dog barking, is now just quiet.

Strangely quiet.

Actually, it’s kind of nice. There is something very satisfying about walking into a house that speaks quietly of neatness and order and stillness.

I like flowers on the table (yellow daffodils preferred), and the fireplace going when I walk in. I like the counter clean and the floor devoid of clutter.

That’s what I like. Nice, neat stillness.

However, that all changed last weekend. It changed because of one thing and one thing only.

We acquired the dog. Now, the dog is not any dog, but the dog!

The dog, whom we were dog sitting for the weekend, did not realize he was only just a dog. In the fact the dog, was firmly convinced he was none other than the top dog!

He arrived at our house at about 4 p.m. Friday trotting all over my veneer floors, that look like, but are not hardwood, with his quick little muddy paws, checking things out. He sniffed and trotted and sniffed and trotted some more before settling in at the top of the stairs sinking his nose onto his paws to wait patiently for me to come home.

The thing is, the dog loves me. He follows my every move, walks when I walk and, horror of horrors, when I stretch out on the couch to watch a movie, the dog stretches out, too. It’s not a very big couch and, of course, one of us ends up all crunched up in a little tiny corner with only a bit of blanket.

And, trust me when I say this, it’s not the dog!

Strangely in the time we had the dog I found myself becoming quite attached to him.

I fed him little bits of human food like toast and jam and most of my husband’s cookie (I didn’t want to share my own cookie). I also gave up my couch almost willingly because he looked so cute all stretched out there like a little white fur ball with legs.

The day after it snowed and snowed some more turning our world into an upside down snow globe, I took him for a walk in the misplaced winter wonderland that was supposed to be the month of March.

We had so much fun. The dog sniffed everything that moved and most things that didn’t and urinated pretty much everywhere. I just held his leash and squinted at the white on white world.

The walk soon got to be less than fun, however. The dog started out leaping through the snow like a giant white bunny who had arrived early for Easter. Soon, however, his leaps became less enthusiastic. It seems he was tuckered right out.

He looked at me with his imploring brown eyes and I squinted back at him and we both agreed on the inevitable.

He would have to be carried home.

I trudged home holding the dog kind of like one would carry a sack of potatoes as he was really quite heavy and his back end kept slipping out of my grasp.

However, we made it, me huffing and puffing, but the dog not even out of breath

I hauled him up the kitchen sink and then spent considerable time spraying him with warm water to melt the snowballs sticking to his fur.

I dried him with a warm towel and he licked my face appreciatively. At least, I assume it was in appreciation.

The dog’s gone home now. Everything is all neat and tidy and I have the couch all to myself.

So why do I miss him so much?

After all, he’s only a dog!