A Boy and His Dog

Brutus was 96 pounds of pure, dumb muscle. He was tan with a black muzzle, and his tail was lopped off into a nub when my parents found him. Lost during Hurricane Wilma in 2005, he was a scared and wet lunk. They fed him a plate of spaghetti and the next thing we knew, David and I were the proud owners of some kind of Anatolian Shepherd mix. The vet said he was about 2 years old at the time. He was a great big baby and he was ours. 

It's been a little over 4 years since Brutus died, and the constant begging from our boys to get a new dog are just now slowing down. David and I both grew up with a menagerie of pets; dogs, cats (and lots of kittens), hamsters, birds, goldfish, snakes, spiders and even a pet rat named Ned. It feels almost wrong to not have pets, and I know how badly they must want a dog. 

It would be so easy to give in and get one. There are countless animals in need of a home. Just not our home. Not right now anyway. 

While we loved our dog, things weren't always so easy. Most of the time we had him, I was in a perpetual state of either pregnancy or caring for an infant. He was a high energy dog that needed to walk, but would pull at his leash, dragging us behind. No amount of obedience training seemed to matter; he was just kinda dumb. 

Not to mention his taste for chewing through our bathroom door during thunderstorms or holidays involving fireworks. His anxiety was parallel to mine, so I couldn't blame him too much there. There was also the constant mess from fur that wove itself into the carpet and couch, the cost of pet food, vet visits and flea control, and that one time where he bit someone else's dog. 

Movies and literature romanticize the "boy and his dog" trope so much to the point where it feels like we are depriving our boys of a chance to grow up with a furry friend. Dogs teach them to be responsible after all; they have to feed, bathe, and clean up after another living being. Then they quickly learn about loss and grieving when that friend passes after only a few short years. 

It feels, at this point, irresponsible to bring another pet into our home when space, time and resources are already at a premium. Some day maybe when we have a little more room, when there are no more diapers to be changed, and when it feels right, we can entertain the idea again. Until then, they'll have to make do with our outside cat, Moxie, and the fish tank, and the meal worms and anything else that crawls, flies and fits in a pocket that they can call a pet.