A Girl and her Dogs

After nine months of forcibly implanting so much knowledge into my brain that my body began to physically reject additional information, I returned home to New Hampshire to recuperate. Thinking I could not possibly have any more to learn within the scope of the earthly sphere, a metaphorical “no vacancy” sign was stamped on my forehead.

Back home, the shelties swarmed around me like a pack of hungry wolves cornering a baby moose (thankfully, they wanted cuddles rather than blood. On second thought, I’m not so sure about Toby; he’s a devious little scoundrel). Lounging on the sofa, attempting to relax, my efforts proved futile. Instead of escaping the constant squawking of lecturers bombarding my ears, I simply traded those droning voices for the ceaseless din of five barking dogs. However, I stopped trying to tune them out (unlike during class time) because I realized they had far more important things to teach me than the serum biochemical pattern of a diabetic cat or how to pass a crop tube in a chicken. To pay homage to a poster hanging in middle school classrooms around the country, everything I need to know I learned from my dogs.

From Jason: Out of brains, brawn, and beauty, two out of three isn’t all that bad.

From Tuukka: Whenever anyone says, “What’s one more?”, the answer is this: one more is fifteen solid minutes of wailing and gnashing of puppy teeth interspersed with plaintive barking and whining, magically appearing puddles with tiny wet paw prints leading away from them, late nights and early mornings spent on potty watch in the yard wearing your pajamas, arbitrating disputes between baby and big brothers and sisters, spending more money puppy-proofing your house than you spent building it, and countless scars on your toes from surprisingly powerful jaws armed with needle-sharp weapons. One more is also giggling at puppy antics, rubbing a warm, pink belly, having a warm neck from a little body perched across your shoulders, swelling with pride as a naive little baby learns to sit, and cradling a fuzzy little sleeping creature so freakin’ adorable you could just vomit rainbows.

From Toby: Nice guys finish last because little guys bowl them over and steal their dried chicken feet (or, you know,money or whatever it is humans are after these days).

 

From Kaleigh: From puppyhood until I left home, we had a rocky relationship. I would say love-hate, but without the love. I came back two years later and reluctantly admitted that I kind of sort of maybe just a little liked her. Sometimes, you just need to give a girl time to grow up a little to really appreciate her (or tolerate her, as it may be).

 

From Hannah: To pursue my dream of becoming a vet, I had to leave my baby girl and return to a dog no longer my own. I died a little inside when she refused to go on a walk with me, looking longingly back at my mom standing in the driveway, obviously wishing it was her on the other end of the leash instead of me. You can’t have it all, but sometimes the sacrifice is worth it. It hurts to have lost her, but I wouldn’t trade my career or education for anything.

And, most importantly, from Sport: Disregarding creaky joints and aching bones, he recklessly raced around the backyard, bounding back and forth and barking for the sheer joy of it. Even if your outside belies your old age, you can still be young at heart.