I have never been a dog lover. This may or may not stem from my intrepid fear of the rottweiler who terrorised, nay destroyed my childhood, but for certain, in the conversational controversy that is ‘are you a dog person or a cat person?’, I was always Team Cat. In my mind, cat lovers were much like the objects of their (totally platonic) desire: gentle, quiet creatures who preferred lying face down on the top of the stairs, staring at at the floor and Wondering About Life, whereas dog people were jumpy, energetic bastards who liked chewing things for no apparent reason, ‘going outside’ and ‘doing stuff’. Not for me, thanks. No siree.
However, this weekend I had a friend’s pug (actual dog left) to stay at my house and I don’t think I am being dramatic when I say EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED. The sounds of his teeny feet scrabbling along my wooden floor lifted my heart. The sight of his ugly but oh-so-adorable wrinkled face made my icy heart melt. Taking him for a walk in my silliest sunglasses cured my hangover (I had to refrain from the matching dog collars, but I would have done it, had I been alone, make no mistake). People stopped and smiled, as though to say ‘aren’t you two a nice pair?’ Hot boys paused for a second on their bicycles as little Bowie tried to race them. “Together, we are hotter,” I told him, squishing my face inappropriately close to his. It is probably lucky that I don’t own a pug, because I have absolutely no doubt that I wouldn’t be able to resist dressing him up as a pumpkin/santa/king (delete as appropriate).
Now he is gone back to his home in Peterborough though, I am left with a small, pug-shaped hole in my life. I am too flighty to allow myself the responsibility of a dog just yet though, so in the meanwhile, I will think about what my dog future holds…
