A few days ago, I was having coffee with the delightful
Anna Dorfman of Door Sixteen and
Jen McCabe of Honey Kennedy
when the conversation turned to dogs, as it tends to do when Anna and I
hang out. Anna turned to Jen and remarked, “Dan wants a dog more than
anybody I have ever known.”
It’s true. Having always had dogs growing up, moving away from home a
few years ago meant that a gaping, oozing, disgusting hole was left in
my dog-loving soul. If you leave your dog tied up outside a store—BLAM,
that’s me petting it until you return, then awkwardly slinking away.
Think you can walk down the sidewalk and I won’t stop you? FUCK OFF LET
ME PET YOUR DOG. I’m that person, that nightmare, who will make you tell
me when you have to leave or I’ll just stay and pet your little monster
forever. Age, breed, sex, cleanliness, likeliness to tear my face off:
none of these details are important. I love dogs and dogs love me and I
don’t trust people who don’t like dogs because dogs are the best. Dogs
dogs dogs dogs.
In our neighborhood in Brooklyn, every now and again we see these
adoption vans parked on the street during the weekend and I inevitably
have to go inside. Oftentimes it’s just cats, which are great if you
like neglect and disapproval, but on Saturday my friend
Lexi and I passed one from the
Sean Casey Animal Rescue with dogs. So many dogs. Cute cute cute dogs.
I actually love cats, by the way. I just don’t want one seeing as I
always figured it might impede on my later ability to get a dog.
While inside the truck, I was checking out this little girl named
Aruba who I believe was a Chihuahua/Italian Greyhound cross who—for all
intents and purposes—was basically a fawn. Cute and timid and slim and
long legs and, well, kind of
elegant, really. Just the kind of dog Max and I had talked about having for months now.
There was some noise coming from the back of the truck so I squatted
down to the ground, as is my instinct when I sense the approach of a
dog. And this little Pit Bull—this wiggly little bright-eyed beast ran
up, threw her arms around my shoulders, and attacked my face with her
tongue. But her arms weren’t just, you know,
there. This was a full-on hug.
So I took fawn/dog for a walk, and she was adorable. Shy but friendly
and very sweet, and liked being held. Check, check, check, and check.
The only problem was that she wasn’t that Pit Bull that hugged me.
Lexi and I got pho and sat down to think it over, because decisions
require food. I texted Max. He came down to meet us, stopped at the
truck on the way, and came in to report that yes, he wanted fawn/dog.
So we went back to the truck. And I took Max to the back, where the
Pit Bull had been returned to her cage. And she looked at me and I
looked at her and she licked my fingers through the bars and I asked to
take her around the block.
She wasn’t good on the leash. She didn’t know commands, and she’s
much too big to just scoop up during a kerfuffle. She can’t use a
wee-wee pad and has the energy and enthusiasm of, well, a Pit Bull.
Fawn/dog was the smart choice, for us. She’d be a great apartment dog and quiet and lovely, but this Pit Bull just felt
right. Rounding
the corner of the second block, I made her sit. She did. And then I sat
on the ground behind her and flipped her onto my body, cradling her
like a baby and rubbing her little tummy and snorgling her fleshy neck.
And that sealed it. Over the course of one square city block, we had our
dog.
And we are in
love. She is beyond sweet, smart as a whip,
and cuddles like you would not believe. Instantly the apartment was
hers, and she has settled in with incredible speed and ease.
We named her Mekko, as in Marimekko, as in the Finnish textile company, as in
we really are that gay. I think it’s cute and suits her nicely and for some reason she actually responds to it.
Did I mention the cuddles? This dog is all about cuddling. She’s one
of those unique creatures who understands how to situate her body in
order to be a good little spoon, and really just wants to be close to us
at all times. We’ve had her all of a day and a half, and she’s already
better on the leash and learning commands and just being all-around
impressive.
If I thought the descent into crazy dog-owner would come gradually, I
was mistaken. She is all I know how to talk about anymore to anybody. I
proudly report the number of times she pooped in a day (yesterday: 3!
Today: 1, so far.) and somehow I don’t even mind her rancid farts. To
me, she is perfect.
God, that face. That fucking face. I mean, can you even? No you cannot.
So far, owning a Pit Bull is great. People on the street are either
terrified or thrilled, because Pit owners LOVE other Pit owners. It’s
like this weird tribe of crazy people who know something that seems to
have been lost on so many otherwise smart, dog-loving, educated people:
Pit Bulls are great dogs. Their reputation is
completely undeserved. They are smart and loyal and cute and cuddly and awesome.
Walking away from the adoption truck, Max led the way to the pet
store while I tailed him with our new dog. And I completely broke the
fuck down. I’m not really an overly-emotional person, and I think the
last time I cried from happiness was when I was about 5, but there I
was, wailing in the street like a crazy person. I try not to get too
sappy on here or in my life in general, but for a minute all I could
think about was that, a year ago, I didn’t have any of this. It was just
me. And then, all at once, all this
love has just come into my
life, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it all feels pretty damn
great. Mekko and Max and me. If not for the river pouring down my face
and trouble walking or forming real words, we would have made a pretty
handsome group in that moment.
Lucky doesn’t begin to describe my life right now. There, I said it. Slap it on a fucking Hallmark card.
P.S.-None of this would have been possible without the amazing people at
Sean Casey Animal Rescue. If you’re feeling a bit generous, please consider
donating to the amazing work they do, or going to meet one of the many animals they have available for adoption. Our dog wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for them.
P.P.S.- SOMEBODY adopt fawn/dog. She really is precious. She’s
here (her name is Aruba).
