Must Love Dogs

I'm starting to understand the dinner I sat through a couple of years ago where everyone but me talked about their dogs for a good thirty minutes (I was the only dogless guest). 

Me: nothing to contribute, incredulous at the conversation, looking down at my plate so I could roll my eyes in secret. Everyone else: talking about their pooches like they were their canine kids; kids that broke expensive pottery and then looked so heartbreakingly precious in their guilt, they were immediately forgiven. Kids that ate their own poop, peed on clothes, destroyed gardens, stole food from countertops, chewed through leashes...it sounded like they were all indulgent parents of gang members. But that was before I met Rocco. (If you've read my blog before, you might remember my dog-in-law from a previous post: I Fell in Love...And Doggone It, I Can't Forget Him) 

I just came back from a visit with Rocco. (Oh, yeah, my sister and brother-in-law and my niece and nephew were there, too. Did I forget to mention them?) And I want to announce to all my dog-lovin' friends that I GET IT. I get it that you'll let a dog slobber their DNA all over your face when you walk in the door. I get it that you'll let a dog take over a bed and nap not just on top of the bedspread, but in your sheets in the middle of the day. And I get it that you can surprise a dog in the act of chewing the insoles out of your favorite shoes and check your anger because he looks so freaking cute. So I guess that officially means I must love dogs. Who knew? I'm a dog person, after all these years!

I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine. It's not going to be easy breaking this news to my cat. She doesn't look nearly as adorable as Rocco when she's got her claws firmly attached to my forearm. 

© 2014 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie