I’ve become a dog lover in my FOF years. I was nipped in my upper thigh by a neighbor’s dog when I was a kid, an incident that instilled the fear of God in me whenever I came within 50 feet of a dog, even if it weighed in at three pounds. I had to go to the ER to have the bite cauterized.
My dog fear dissipated over the years, but I still wasn’t a big dog fan. Actually, I thought any woman who adored a dog really needed a good man.
Turns out, I barking up the wrong tree. After hearing David talk about how much he loved the dogs he’s owned, I wanted one. My biological dog clock must have kicked in.
We took Rigby home a little over four years ago, and although everyone I know thinks he is a spoiled brat, needy and a pest, I love him. I can’t even tell you why I love him, especially because I agree he’s a brat. Maybe it’s because he would be lost without me. Where would he get his food, his shelter, and his companionship? And who would wag their tail furiously when I came home?
Rigby and I went into a pet store on tonight’s walk, where I always like to look at the puppies for sale. I wanted to take them all home, especially the ones who looked forlornly up at me.