They Call It Puppy Love

Back when Al Franken hosted a radio show, one of his guests was an expert on “big cats”—tigers, lions, jaguars, leopards, etc. 
​Franken asked her, “If my house cat, my domesticated pet, were big enough, would she eat me?”
The expert didn’t hesitate:  “Yes, probably.”
​
So much for our feline “friends.” 
​
​Now don't get me wrong; I really love cats, and in the past, a few have kept me as their pet. But I am a confirmed dog person. 

This is Lucy.  We adopted her at our local shelter in 2012, when she was about a year old.  Her DNA is Dachshund, Miniature Pinscher and Boston Terrier.  Lucy weighs 21 pounds--the smallest dog to ever live with us.  Even if she were 200 pounds, Lucy would never eat me.
Lucy sleeps in our bed between my wife Janice and me every night, under the covers, snuggling and nestled against my side.
Supposedly, if you allow your dog to sleep with you, it will cause him or her to bark excessively.  I do not understand the canine psychology behind that theory, but Lucy is indeed a vigilant and vocal protector of our domain. 
Although Lucy does not regard me as prey (she prefers squirrels), she does appreciate my salinity.  Every morning, Lucy dutifully and thoroughly licks the salty sleep from my eyes.  She then progresses to a tongue lavage of my nostrils, which I very briefly endure for her sake.  When she has finished the job, she rolls onto her back and bares her pink belly, upon which I plant my open mouth and produce a loud, sloppy raspberry, eliciting faint little grunts of piglet pleasure.  
The whole routine is choreographed.  Some might deem it unsanitary, and maybe even a bit disgusting.
​Screw them.
The bond that Lucy and I share is so obvious that it has caused my wife to experience a tinge of jealousy.  Recently Janice said that she sometimes wonders if I love Lucy more than I love her.
“Oh, honey,” I said, “don’t be ridiculous.  It’s just that Lucy is so uninhibited with her show of affection.  And I have to reciprocate because I don’t want to hurt her feelings.  Of course I love you more.  I mean, she’s just a dog.”
“I’m never going to lick your eyeballs.”
"What?"
"Your ocular secretions.  Rheum."
​(She's a nurse.)
“Oh, of course not.  Don't be silly.  But....”
"But what?"

“But—say if every time I come home, whether I’ve been away two weeks or two hours, you would run as fast as you can to greet me at the door, wearing nothing but a monogrammed reflective pink collar, shaking your butt like crazy, and frantically paw me all over, getting so excited that you lose control of your bladder, well, then it would be a no-brainer.  No contest.  Definitely.”

“If I ever did that, you’d have a heart attack on the spot.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.  But I’d die a happy man.”
“Well, don’t worry.  Ain’t gonna happen.  Besides, I wouldn’t want to make Lucy jealous.”

                                                                         *  *  *
Lucy and I are still bonding every night, and continuing our morning ritual, and now she and Janice and I also sometimes cuddle together in a threesome on our big comfy couch in the living room, sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching DOGTV.
​ 
My vision is amazingly clear.

                                                                        ###

P.S.--Lucy usually hogs the remote:

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                                                                                      ^ Photo by Carey Bash

"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened."
                                                      -- Anatole France, Nobelist, Literature, 1921

We adopted Lucy at the Camarillo animal shelter when she was about one or two years old.  We wanted a companion for our Buddy, who was a Labrador/Border Collie mix.
So, one Sunday (which happened to be Mother's Day), we went to the shelter with our son Carey, who was 11 at the time.
Lucy was in the very first pen he went to, and when he approached it, Lucy took one look at him and started howling loudly.  (We never heard her do that ever again.)
Carey took one look at her and it was love at first sight.
The fact that she howled upon seeing him made us think that there had been a boy in her life who looked like Carey, so that was the sad part of her adoption.
Lucy had been at the shelter for only a few days, so we had to wait until she was there for the required time before we could take her home.
The shelter staff had named her "Gabby, the freeway dog," because she had been picked up by the Highway Patrol when she was loose on the 101 near Seaward Ave. in Ventura.
Carey chose her new name.
​Lucy passed in August of 2025, after a battle with kidney disease.  She was a wonderful, beloved member of our family, and we will miss her forever and ever.

Carey and Lucy, right after we brought her home:

Buddy and Lucy: