So yesterday was a mixed bag of people places and events. The above photo, of some extreme mutt looking dog, was snapped at a dog park I visited, with the intent of returning this weekend, with my dog Page. And in my groping for some significant message or learning to write about, the best I could do is share this silly monologue I had with myself about how one converts to, or returns to, being a dog person.

I’ve always thought of myself as a dog person, but had escaped the joy of it for the past seven years. That’s right, no sign of hair everywhere, no worries of fleas, pee, poop or muddy paws jumping into my lap. I managed to forget about the gifts of discovering chewed up shoes or the enthusiasm for getting up early to take them for a walk, much less walking them in any and all weather. Ahhh, the feeling of creamy soft warmth on my fingertips, from picking up a freshly produced poop, felt through the condom thin poop bag. Did I say chewed shoes?

I have always been a dog person; perhaps more a dog than a person and ever since I adopted “Page” a few weeks ago, all the glory that is being a dog owner is returning. What is it exactly that out-weighs the crap out of itself? How is it possible that a soft puppy head on your thigh and big black marble eyes staring up at you, is way more than an equal exchange for sharing a life with a filthy animal?

Maybe it’s just about having something/someone to take care of, that in return, gives you simple unconditional devotion. I don’t know. In the past two days I’ve noticed my immaculate car covered with white dog hair, the new car smell has been replaced with that popcornish, newspaperish, wet dog, kind of smell. Two pairs of flip flops have been consumed in a matter of seconds and my once invisible person wardrobe, of billowy black clothes, to hide my chubbiness, has become the now, look at me in bright lights, super attention drawing canvas for all that white hair to stick to.

Right now, as I write this, she, Page, is sleeping under my feet. Her fur is keeping my feet warm. I’m happier than I’ve been for a long time.


  1. Aw dad, that’s so nice! I love reading your blog. It makes me feel like i’m inside your head with you, while i cant be next to you. I complain almost every day of all the black Frank hair that has consumed all areas of our apartment…but when he jumps on the bed and nuzzles to go under the covers, i just melt…or when I bathe him, and he rests his head inbetween my legs while i give him a good shampoo LOL. Or the way he greets me when i get home…the way he turns in circles and gives me kissess all the way to the kitchen for dinner. I cant wait for Frank and Page to meet!!! Cant wait to see you IN 2 WEEKS!!!!!!! Love you dad!

G'head. Say it.

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