I've always had dogs. In college, I lived in broken-down apartments because they let me keep my dogs. Later, I paid extra to rent dog-friendly housing in questionable neighborhoods with fenced backyards.
I've trained dogs. I've taught other people how to train their dogs.
When I had the leisure to read, I read every half-decent book on and about dogs that I could find, fiction and non-fiction.
Hector and I were best of friends. Early on chilly mountain mornings, I'd curl up with him on the kitchen porch and watch the sun come up.
I counted my first dog — Hector, a St. Bernard that my parents got when I was only four — as my earliest friend and defender.
I'm what you call a dog person.
When Forrest and I met, I had two dogs — Pi, a Labrador retriever, and Punk, a miniature schnauzer. Unfortunately, both died within the first year of our marriage, but Coco and Sunny were happy to go on walks and bark at visitors so I wasn't dogless.
I'd figured that Forrest and I could be in for a royal marital tiff when both of his dogs went to the great hunting ground in the sky. I had decided that I could eventually talk him around, once we'd lived a few months without canine companionship, because he is a dog person too. Dogs know this; neither of us has ever met a reasonably normal one that didn't end up coming to us for a scratch or a treat, regardless of how standoffish it was at the start.
I also knew that my beloved was very susceptible to Puppy Eyes, just like the ones I was trying to avoid that steaming summer afternoon.
The pup behind the eyes, shivering and howling on the passenger side floor, seemed to be a normal dog, under the circumstances — neither overly shy and afraid nor aggressive. It was possible that I had some kid's budding best buddy. I could imagine the sorrow such a child would feel when that puppy was nowhere to be found, so I concentrated on not looking into the puppy eyes, at least until I turned into our driveway.
"I've hit a dog," I called to Forrest as I left the car, engine idling. "I have to find an emergency vet," I explained as I headed for the telephone book in the kitchen. He headed to the car to look at the victim while I called Timberline Veterinarian Hospital's after-hours emergency number.
Dr. Powers was on call. She would meet me at the clinic in 20 minutes. >>
