I know they’re cute, they’re loyal and they love unconditionally. But they also stink, they’re needy, they have fleas.
They have some seriously distasteful licking and eating habits, and lordy lordy, don’t get me started on their by-products. The very thought of picking up a hot steaming pile of doggy-do has always left me cold. Sweaty, clammy, full-body-shuddery, cold.
For years I resisted our children’s pleas for a dog. My excuse was always the same: my dance card was full.
I didn’t have a spare hour in my day to walk/worm/wash/wipe up after a dog. Besides, the older two already had a dog at their mum’s; the younger two would just have to make do with the cat.
I held firm until the night our eleven year old woke to find a prowler standing over her bed. The next day, I started the search for a dog.
What we needed was obvious. Something that would defend our children with its life. Something that would strike fear into the heart of a would-be home invader. Something that would bark like a slavering hound from hell the moment any evil doer set foot on our property.
What we got was this…
Something so fearsome we named him Huggy.
Something so intelligent that friends and family started referring to him as the Derek Zoolander of beagles – really, really, really good looking….but not very bright.
Something that likes to roll in dead cockroaches.
Something that smells so bad (even for a dog), that I eventually asked the vet if there was something wrong with him. (Delicacy prevents me from going into his anal gland problem, but considering that his Daddy is a gastroenterologist, he is one faulty unit).
Despite his flaws, I have succumbed. He sleeps on the front verandah and his ballsy baritone bark can be heard in Biloela if anyone dares to open the front gate.
To thank him for his night time vigilance, I pick up his poos without complaint and let him sleep on my bed during the day (but only on Daddy’s side, because they both tend to shed).
I am now a dog tragic. My conversion is complete. I feel sorry for my former dogless self.
I used to hate needy; now I am needy.
I need someone in my life who greets each and every day with unbridled enthusiasm. Who eats any old crap I care to dish up – and loves it. Who pushes me out of the way to clean up the cat vomit. Who loves my kids just as much I do.
Happy birthday Huggy.