A Celebration of Dogness

I want to take this opportunity to contradict the description of my blog and mention all of the neat little things that Skippy does that, not only endear her to us, but let us know that we are loved. Naturally, because this is my eccentric, neurotic, and possibly senile dog, these behaviours are consistent with her other less-endearing ones. So indulge me this once and I'll tell you why my Jack Russell is so great.

Every day I commute to work, in north Toronto, a little over an hour each way. I'm an English teacher and my wife is an artist who stays at home with our two daughters: Kitty and Skippy. Kitty is our teenager, indifferent to life outside her sphere, with little tolerance for us when the needs of our lives interfere with hers. She is only the teenager in attitude, though. Skippy, two years older, gladly plays the role of the younger sister; blindly devoted to her older sibling, despite the cat's mere tolerance of her presence. She is the baby of  the family. We stay up all night with her watching "So You Think You Can Dance", with Cat Deeley, during thunderstorms; she naps every afternoon; she cries when she doesn't understand something, and we understand these different cries; she loves to snuggle up as close as she can get; she demands our attention when not enough of it has been given; and she misses us when we are away. So she is dependent upon us. But how does she show her love?

At around four o'clock she sits in the entrance to the kitchen and stares across the great expanse of the living room to the front door. She knows that it won't be long before I come through that door and she can greet me with an unbridled barrage of barks. This can get very sad when I have to coach or have a meeting and don't make my entrance until seven. Yes, she still waits, albeit rather impatiently, and then, when I finally arrive, she will not settle until I sit on the floor, rub her belly and let her lie down beside me. When grandma and grandpa bring her home after a visit, she eagerly presses her nose up to the window of their car and whines with restrained excitement at the anticipation of coming home to see us again.

It's great to have this little bundle of joy follow me around the house wherever I go. No sarcasm here: it's actually quite cute. She overreacts when we leave her, but is so happy to see us again. Her love is unconditional. She only asks for our love in return; not in payment for her own but as a fulfilment of a basic need. As a couple with no children, and who are not likely to have any in the future, this tiny Jack Russell, perhaps in some small way, also fills a need in us.

Why isn't he home yet? That's fine, I'll just wait.