About the Dog: One Imagined and One Real Conversation.

I’m very excited about our recent house-hunting adventure for one big reason:

It means I can finally get a dog.

Oh, and it also means we can get out of apartment living and the douchebag parade that has installed itself recently in our building, smokers that have now resorted to smoking inside the apartment with windows closed so that we can’t visibly catch them smoking, have a dishwasher and laundry in our own house, reclaim furniture that his been so nicely stored by my nice parents for a nice long time, relax on a front porch, and all that jazz.

But, DOG.  The important things, right?

We decided that I wouldn’t get a dog until we had a house and a fenced in yard, which makes a lot of logical, grown-uppy, smart sense but does absolutely nothing for my childish, exuberant, sad-face-when-I-see-dogs, dog-loving heart.  But now that a house is (hopefully, fingers-and-toes crossed) imminently near, I’m getting very excited about my new future dog.

Notice I’ve said dog, and not puppy.  I do not want a puppy.  My long-standing theory is that if you’re going to get a puppy, you might as well just have kids.  They seem eerily similar in many, many ways, and I’m just not quite yet hopping on the having-a-kid wagon.  

Here’s another odd comparison between thinking about kids and dogs: Whenever you mention to someone you are thinking about having a kid/dog, someone ALWAYS pipes up with their unwarranted opinion about your choice of breed (we’re back to dogs, now, if you haven’t noticed.  Does anyone talk about breeds of kids?  I hope not.)

It goes like this:

Me: “We’re thinking about getting a dog.”

Vocal Opinion-Sharer: “Oh really, what kind?”

M: “[Insert breeds here that we’ve carefully thought about.]”

VOS: “Oh, you don’t want XX dog.  They’re horrible/smell/break things/will eat your furniture/ruin your life.  You should get a XX dog instead.  My sister/cousin/husband/plumber/candlestickmaker/baker had one and they were great.”

M: ….. (inward eye-rolling, and let’s face it, sometimes outward)

[End scene]

Don’t get me wrong, I am sometimes an inadvertent Opinion-Sharer.  We all are.  I think it’s our way of relating to the subject matter and having a conversation.  But when it’s EVERY TIME I say I want a certain type of dog, it’s obnox.  Like abbreviating words.

That being said, I had this great idea last night around midnight about Future Dog, and I had to share this with the Boy. It went a little something like this:

Me: “Dear, I had a great idea.  We’ll buy the house, then get a Basset Hound* and name him Mr. Bates like the valet on Downton Abbey.”

Boy: “He really doesn’t seem like the most Basset Hound-y character on Downton Abbey.”

Me: “Who’s more Bassetty than Mr. Bates?”

Boy: “That other waiter dude.”

Me: [Looking it up on Google] Mr. Carson?  Yes, I suppose you are right, even though Mr. Carson is considered a Sheepdog.  But I think Mr. Bates sounds better.”

Boy: “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

[Cut to scene of me, acting out all of the scenarios wherein we are petting Mr. Bates, talking to Mr. Bates, feeding Mr. Bates his food, all while talking to him in a very formal, British tone.]

Boy: “Never going to happen.  You want to know why?  Because at some point I’m going to have to yell out the dog’s name repeatedly to get him to come in, and all the neighbors are going to think I’m yelling out “Master Bates”, which is very, very bad.”

Me: “I don’t understand.”

Boy: “Just say it a few times to yourself, dear.”

Me: [realizing that yelling Mr. Bates really loud does, indeed, sound like an inappropriate out-loud word that I refuse to type on the blog so as to avoid skeezy Google searches and associated comments.]

Boy: “Exactly.”

Me: “So, Mr. Carson it is?”

[End Scene]

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*Yes, we are considering a Basset Hound.  Yes, we know what they look, sound, and smell like.  Yes, we are concerned they might be a trifle frumpy and/or the wrong dog for us.  Yes, they look like they’d be so adorable in a smoking jacket and pipe.  No, I do not want to know what you think about Bassetts, unless your name is Renee and you are my Basset Hound-pimp because you own one.

*All photos courtesy of Dogster.com.