Hazel hasn't outright disowned me, not in so many woofs. But after 16 months of cohabiting with my adopted ex-racer, I'm still not feeling that overwhelming rush of love and affection that my previous greyhounds, Elvis, Lucy, and Olivia, lavishly dished upon me. Those dogs adored me. Idolized me. Looked upon me with such deep abiding love that sometimes I swore I could see little hearts shooting from their pupils. If ever I needed an ego boost, I could always count on my beloved four-legged fan club.
Uh Hazel, not quite. Oh, she loves me. As the can-opener. The dog-walker. The pillow-plumper. The dispenser of treats and driver of car to awesome destinations like beaches and parks.
Basically, I'm a canine concierge.
Yeah, dogs are supposed to love unconditionally, but Hazel is clearly a bit more discriminating. And while I'm honored to be on her list at all, it's obvious that I'm not at the very top. Now call it presumptuous, but considering that I provide luxurious room and board, cover costly health care, and freely dish out premium treats, gourmet meals,and multiple walks, not to mention endless belly rubs and needle-nose kisses, shouldn't these provisions automatically elevate me to numero uno?
That would be a big fat no. Sure, my girl loves me. She seems happy enough to see me and allows me to spend my every waking minute tending to her needs. It's just that Hazel has a few other preferences that take a higher priority. These would include:
- Other greyhounds
- Other dogs
- Men with treats
- Men without treats
- Big men, small men, fat men, bald men, hairy men, gay men, any men
- Going for walks
- Going for rides in my Honda CRV, sticking her head out the window, and roooing like a canine fire siren
- Barking at squirrels
- Kongs stuffed with peanut butter, creamy not crunchy, thank you very much
- Did I mention men?
Oh yes, and then me.
Well, at least I'm one up from the vet, but let's not test that. My ego is bruised enough as is.
But then, right when I'm ready to concede defeat in the affection department, my 63-pound hound will knock the wind out of me with a surprise jump on my lap. She'll snuggle as close as she can, burrow her knobby head under my chin, and rest her face against my chest, followed with a deep contented sigh.
And as I wrap my arms around my goofy girl, I realize that it doesn't matter if I'm not first in Hazel's heart. Because she's first in mine.
But then, right when I'm ready to concede defeat in the affection department, my 63-pound hound will knock the wind out of me with a surprise jump on my lap. She'll snuggle as close as she can, burrow her knobby head under my chin, and rest her face against my chest, followed with a deep contented sigh.
And as I wrap my arms around my goofy girl, I realize that it doesn't matter if I'm not first in Hazel's heart. Because she's first in mine.
2 comments:
What a poignant story, Ellen. I hope Hazel’s surprise bursts of snuggly affection are coming more and more often. From personal experience, I know it happens, very gradually but surely. And I’m sure your love for her continues to help her learn how to return love and heal from long years of isolation.
I miss your posts, Eileen. I hope all's well.
And a note of encouragement: Yesterday my rescue boy gave me kisses for the first time ever - after 5½ years with me! They do figure out OUR ways of recognizing their love!
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