Until last Sunday, when my husband and I adopted six-month-old Lulu, it had been more than three years since I’d walked a dog in my neighborhood [RELATED POST: Ode to My Dog, Pudge]. Back then my neighbors picked up their dogs’ poop. Sure, you’d occasionally come across an abandoned pile of fly-infested poop sizzling in the summer sun while out for a stroll with your pooch, but for the most part, people had an ounce of civic pride and respected their neighbors enough to clean up after their best friends. That’s why I’m shocked at the current pooper scooper habits – or lack thereof – of what appears to be an increased number of dog owners in my community.
Things were fine before the best dog in the entire universe burst into our lives, but they were infinitely better – and sometimes worse, but mostly better – with her. We contemplated naming her Trixe or Peanut-butter, but settled on Pudge to honor Ivan Rodriguez or maybe it was Carlton Fisk. I can’t quite remember, but Pudge it was.
Pudge amused us with her antics. She ignored the no-dogs-on-the-furniture rule from the moment of its inception, drank from the toilet and notoriously unspooled entire rolls of toilet paper across the family room like a Halloween prankster whenever one of us forgot to shut the bathroom door.
Ordinary dogs make extraordinary heroes because that’s what dogs do.
Channel your inner Lassie.
And this is why I love dogs.
Just to make you smile, Just Another Ordinary Day brings you real life stories of people (and dogs) turning simple, ordinary actions into extraordinary experiences. If you know some folks (or dogs) doing ordinary things in extraordinary fashion to make the world a better place, CLICK HERE to submit their stories.
Originally published January 23, 2012.
I love my dog, Pudge. What’s not to love? She’s loyal, and smart, and cute. She’s the best dog in the whole entire universe. Even so, she is not allowed, under any circumstances, to kiss me. I don’t kiss her either. I will hug her, cuddle her, scratch behind her ears, and rub her belly till the cows come home, but no kissing. I simply will not allow it.
My kids think kissing the dog is perfectly acceptable. In fact, when Christian comes home after having been away at college for months at a time, the first thing he does is kiss the dog. No affectionate greeting for mama when he walks through the door. Nope. No leaping into my waiting embrace, proclaiming how much he missed me. Nope. He drops to his knees and kisses the dog AND he lets her kiss him back AND he seems to enjoy it. Blechkkk. Dog germs.
Originally published June 13, 2011.
Have you ever been loved by a dog? Not dog as in, “You need to leave that lyin’, cheatin’ dog,” or, “She’s a real dog, but has a great personality!” I mean an honest-to-goodness-four-legged-tail-wagging-bad-breath-in-your-face dog because, regardless of pedigree (yours – not the dog’s), nobody will ever love you like a dog. A dog’s love is unconditional and the only thing he expects from you is a lasting place in your heart. Did I mention that I’m loved by the best dog in the entire universe? That’s right. My dog, Pudge, is THE BEST DOG IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE. Please do not attempt to argue that your dog’s better. He’s not.