“I’m a little worried about you,” she finally says, and I have to admit, that wasn’t the first time I’d heard it.
There’s no substitute for a good dog
For weeks after Beth’s departure, I thought about what she’d said—and what she’d left unsaid. Is my devotion to Uno somehow inappropriate? Am I subconsciously asking him to fill a role he could never occupy, by treating him as a surrogate child? Is it possible... that I love my dog too much?
Maybe. I’m really not crazy, though I recognize some of my choices may seem extreme. We send Uno to daycare. We make sure he gets to the park at least three times a day on weekends. We think about him constantly.
But while I might care for him with the same intensity a mother does her child, I’m quite aware he’s not human. In fact, that’s partly why I find our devotion to each other so moving; his sheer canine-ness inspires me like no person ever has.
Besides, Mike and I still see our friends. We go to human-only dinner parties. We even travel—without our dog.
I admit, though, to aching for Uno whenever we do go away. Even now, three years since his adoption, I routinely tear up when Mike and I pull away from the dog sitter’s house and head toward the airport. It could be worse. At least I don’t insist we take separate flights.
