Cry "Havoc!" and let slip....Marco.

So I got a dog.

For most people this isn’t a big event. Most people grown up with four legged creatures jumping in their lap, licking their face, and voiding their bladders wherever they choose. Most people find these traits to be endearing; they can’t imagine living a life without an animal to come home and snuggle up with.

I’m not most people.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate animals. It’s not like I’m rooting for Fiddo to get hit by a bus or anything. But I didn’t grow up with pets, so the traits I listed above just seem…unpleasant to me. My wife, on the other hand, has been dying to get a dog for years now.
“They just love you!” she would tell me. “You come home and they’re always happy to see you! They just love you!”
I tried to explain that my television felt this way about me and that I didn’t need to take it outside to pee. But she found the TV to be less then snuggly. So back in November, while she was working late and I was bonding with Stevie The TV, I got a text from her with a picture of the tiniest dog I’d ever seen. Below that was the word “Please!”
I believe my exact thought was: Shit
She came home and gave me the details. The dog was a black and white Rat Terrier, a male puppy that was only a few months old. One of the patrons brought it in to the library and now Rachael was asking me what I thought about bringing him home. What could I do? I love my wife madly so the only real answer was to embrace change and become a dog owner.

I hate change.

So a couple of days latter a shoe sized pup we named Marco entered our house. At least he was small. That was my one condition, if we were to get a dog I had to be able to take it in a fight. Again, most people see a giant dog and think how pretty it looks, or how it will make a good protector. I see a dog and I immediately think of how I would defend myself if it went all Cujo on me. With Marco weighing all of four pounds I felt safe. And that’s exactly what Marco wanted me to think.

It’s now three months later and Marco is a part of the family. My wife often proclaims her love for him. I…care for him…deeply… but my feelings aren’t to that level. Rachael and I just have different relationships with the dog. Here’s the best example:

One day I came home from work and Marco was a hyper hypo. The dog just would not leave me alone. He didn’t want to play, he didn’t want to eat. He just wanted to be in my face. I tried to put him on his doggie blanket that he likes to nest in but he wasn’t having it. He just wanted to stand on my lap and stare into my eyeballs. No matter what I tried he would just not lay down. Frustrated, I started to walk upstairs to hide in the bathroom. Marco darted under my foot and I crashed jaw first on to the top step. As I lay there clutching my jaw making sure all my teeth were still attached, Marco stood on my head and sniffed at my face.

Soon Rachael came home and Marco calmed down. He snuggled in her lap and sweetly looked up at her. He remained in that position until bedtime. As I sat next to them, rubbing my jaw, I told Rachael how Marco stood on my head. She tried to convince me that he was worried about me and was checking to see if I was okay. Maybe she was right. Maybe he loves me just like all the dogs on TV love their masters. But as I was lying there, running my tongue across my teeth, Marco’s nose on my forehead; I could have sworn I heard a tiny little voice saying, “This is my house, sir. Now go make me a sandwich!”