Everything Hits at Once

That video is a condensed view of every late afternoon around the Burgess-March household. For the one or two of you that haven’t heard me talk about him, Myg and I have a dog, a black Labrador retriever named Mason. He’s the best animal friend I’ve ever had, and he ranks in my top five all-time friends period. I’d put him higher, but I don’t want to offend a few other people who are dear to me. Those of you with important pets know what I’m talking about, the rest of you should have clicked away from this post by now. It’s only going to get worse.

It wasn’t always this way. Two years ago, Myg started pushing to get a dog. No, I said. Yes, I loved dogs, but it wasn’t time. My father had just died and I was wrapped up in mourning and in the middle of my first year in graduate school. Dogs would come later. Myg gave me a weekly litany of good reasons for a dog. I held my ground. No dogs, I said. Not until we have kids. Kids first, then dogs. Practical. The kid(s) would grow up a little, and reach an appropriate age for a dog, and we would get one. By that point we would live in a home with a yard big enough for a dog to run around. (We own a nice home today, but the “back yard” is smaller than the exercise yard at the county jail, half deck and half gravel and not enclosed.) Dogs need room. So what that we lived next to a park with a large fenced-in dog run? (Where that video was taken.) It was not time for us to have a dog. Still, every few days, Myg would remind me she wanted a dog. I was intransigent. No, we were not getting a dog. She began calling me “Mr. No Not.”

Six months after Myg began her offensive, we were taking one of our regular trips to visit her mother in Virginia. Somewhere between Havre de Grace and Quantico, Myg was on the phone with Mom when I overhead “Yay! Tell the breeder to bring them by on Tuesday.” Now I knew my mother-in-law was planning to get another dog to keep her three-year-old black lab company, but this felt like a setup. The majority of my in-laws are a bunch of North Jersey Italian Americans, and really the best extended family I could ask for—they know how to eat and talk at the same time, refreshingly comfortable behavior that could get your hand slapped in the house I grew up in. They also have different boundaries than those of my familial WASP culture. If there’s a difference between what they think is good for me and what I think is good for me, guess which opinion is discounted?

I accused Myg of colluding with her mother. She denied it vehemently. After we arrived, I accused my mother-in-law. She also denied it, but laughed, implying she didn’t think it was an unfortunate coincidence. In truth, I believe them. Most of my aggravation and protest was due to knowledge that it was going to be much harder for me to stick to the plan when confronted with puppies. I wanted to put the blame for my potential downfall on something outside of my own faulty impulse control.

On Tuesday the breeder arrived and out of the tailgate piled two lab puppies—a black one and a yellow one. They were the final two from a litter of eleven. The little black lab trotted over and stood between my legs looking up at me. “Oh no,” I said.

“Awww,” said Myg. “He likes you. That is your dog.”

“That is not my dog.”

“Yes, he is.” She giggled.

I took Myg’s arm and led her away from the dogs and my MiL. I explained again, with emphasis and vigor, my no-dog rationale. She said she did not agree, but understood and if I didn’t want a dog, we wouldn’t get a dog. It shouldn’t be something we didn’t both want to take on. Relieved, I said I appreciated her understanding. We returned to the puppies. When the little black one ran over to me again, my guard was down and I picked him up. He put his head against my shoulder and sighed. Who could withstand such a barrage? What kind of idiot was I? When did I think a better opportunity would arise? Did I think I would find this dog in six years? “Okay,” I said. Myg looked at me, incredulous. I haven’t put the dog down since.

Mason has heard this story. I like to think he forgives me for not immediately recognizing another member of my own pack because dogs are like that and they know people are not as smart. We’ll see you later, it’s time for the park again.