Love Me, Love My Dog. Or Not. A Memoir.

When my dog and my boyfriend marked their territory

When I was 19, I dated a guy named Kenny. I liked him O.K. But mostly, I liked how much he loved my dog. Kenny was allergic to dog hair, yet every time he came over to my house, he’d roll around on the ground with the dog, even letting her sit on his lap. I remember looking at Kenny once, his eyes rimmed red and his nose running. Total keeper, I thought, as Kenny grabbed another wad of Kleenex and blew his nose.

Many years — and several dogs — later, I dated a guy I’ll call Not Kenny. Not Kenny hated my current dog. When I told my friend and fellow dog lover Phil Fragasso about this, he voiced the thoughts of many dog people. “Deal breaker,” he said.

Under normal circumstances, I’d agree. But when it comes to my dog, Junie B. Jones, there is no such thing as normal. Like the main character from the Junie B. Jones series of kids’ books, my dog is a bit of a handful.

You know how some dogs whine, jump or hide during storms? Junie B.’s like that 24/7. Some days she wakes up and seems like a normal dog and I think, yes, this may be a good day! And then we go outside and the good day comes to an end for a myriad of reasons: a bee flying too close to her head, a leaf blowing by, a dog barking, a bicyclist pedaling down the street. It’s a crapshoot.

I’ve tried all sorts of things to help calm her down. Long hikes. Throwing a Frisbee or tennis ball for her for an hour. A ThunderShirt, which uses gentle compression to calm dogs down. Anti-anxiety medicine. None of these have moved the needle on her anxiety guage.

There’s only one time when she’s calm: when she’s right next to me. Or rather, when she’s closest to me. If one of my children comes into bed with me at night, the dog wiggles her way between us. More than once, I’ve caught her waiting until the child falls asleep and then using her paws to shove him to the far edge of the bed.

Junie B. can be a sweet dog, but she’s seven degrees of separation from easy. And so I thought maybe Not Kenny deserved a little latitude.

Timing is Everything

Not long after Not Kenny kissed me for the first time, I asked him if he liked dogs. Absolutely, he told me. He just didn’t like drool and fur. If you’re a dog lover, you don’t need a magic decoder ring to know what this means. One: Not Kenny hated dogs, but he liked me enough to deal with the dog. Two: This wasn’t going to end well.

Taking Him Home to Meet the Dog

I took Junie B. on a three-hour hike the morning of Not Kenny’s first visit to my house. I even gave her the anti-anxiety medicine, just in case it worked this time. I spent alone time with her before Not Kenny’s arrival. I made sure she had her favorite toy. All of this, I hoped, would help the first meeting between Junie B. and Not Kenny go smoothly.

Yeah, as if.

That evening, when Not Kenny rang the doorbell, Junie B. ran to the door, barking. I opened the door and Not Kenny — who, it turns out, has absolutely no instincts with dogs — put his hands on his hips and stared at the dog, a threatening gesture that made Junie B. run under the dining room table, where she hid for the rest of the night. Over the ensuing weeks, we tried taking her hiking with us. Not Kenny insisted on holding Junie B.’s leash and walking between us, which about set the dog into orbit, so I took the leash and told Not Kenny to chill. I walked in the middle, with Junie B. on one side of me and Not Kenny on the other. Neither one liked this arrangement, but we made it work.

The Fateful Night

After months of effort, Junie B. and Not Kenny made a teeny bit of progress. They still hated each other, but they could at least be in the same room. And then Not Kenny spent the night.

We were getting ready to go to sleep when Not Kenny told me that he really couldn’t take the dog sleeping with us. I was about to negotiate the point with him. But then I remembered: Not Kenny would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He slept like a rock, so after he fell asleep, I’d let the dog come up on my side of the bed, and I’d make sure she got off the bed before Not Kenny awoke. Problem solved. Or so I thought.

After Not Kenny fell asleep, I motioned to Junie B., who gently leaped up onto the bed. She laid down next to me and I stroked her fur. You’re O.K., baby, I said to her silently, keeping my hand on her to comfort her.

She seemed calm. But, looking back, I think the stress of being around Not Kenny all evening had taken a toll on her.

This may be a good time to tell you that sometimes, when Junie B. has had a difficult day, she poops in her sleep. Which is something I had forgotten about until I felt something warm on my leg around 6:00 a.m.

The Coverup

Junie B. leaped out of the bed and ran downstairs. I grabbed some tissue, cleaned the poop off of the fitted sheet and flushed the poop down the toilet. To cover up the poop stains, I pulled the top sheet over the fitted one. Now the only evidence left was the smell.

Not Kenny was still asleep, but it was just a matter of time before the stench woke him up. I quickly considered my options. I could spray the room with air freshener, but that would arouse suspicion. I could take the blame for the smell, but that option came with all kinds of repercussions. I could use my womanly charms on Not Kenny, but I quickly dismissed the thought of that. Instead, I flung the French door open to air the room out.

“What are you doing?” Not Kenny yelled, annoyed to have been awakened by bright sunshine.

“Let’s go for a hike!” I said. Not Kenny grunted and rolled over, his back to me. The room still smelled. “It’s such a gorgeous day,” I insisted. “We can go to breakfast first.”

Before long, Not Kenny relented. He got up and took a shower. I threw the sheets in the washer, checked on the dog and put my hiking clothes on. As I was lacing up my shoes, Not Kenny appeared beside me. “It was nice not having the dog with us last night,” he said. Which made me kind of hate him. This wasn’t working, and the time had come for me to choose between Not Kenny and the dog.

An hour later, after I had told Not Kenny that the dog had slept with us the previous night, and after a conversation that made waking up with my leg in poop feel like the high point of the morning, Junie B. and I were happily hiking in the woods.

I bent down to take her leash off. Instead of running off the way she normally did, she sat next to my heel. I stroked her fur. “You’re O.K., baby,” I said, silently promising her that I’d never again date someone who didn’t like drool or fur. My friend Phil had been right: It was a deal breaker.

Written by

Wendy Jones is a writer and life coach at www.Life1Point0.com, which provides coaching, tips, and inspiration to reconnect you to your authentic self.

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