I Want to Be My Dog
Every day I love on my dog, Remi, and whisper sweet bits and encouragement into her ear. Can you kiss a dog too much? Then there are days when I cup her flabby cheeks in my hands, look into her eyes with pure adoration, and get rewarded with an audible “toot” and a nasal assault that makes me jump off the couch and run.
We begin and end each day the same way: cuddled up under a mountain of blankies, stuck together like peas and carrots. Now I’m not saying I’ve never sought revenge with the ‘ol Dutch Oven trick, but overall, we get by just fine. Most mornings start out obnoxiously. I play dead, hoping she will go back to sleep, and she escalates bad behaviors that begin with staring at me while I’m fake sleeping, pawing at my boobs (which generally gets me to at least move in an act of self-preservation) and ends up with her trying to sit on my head. She knows no shame.
We go out to check and feed the chickens and goats. This is when she takes a hot, steaming dump in the side yard, close enough to the pathway, that I get to smell it. Then we go “running”. She runs, I drive. 
Once she has ticked a couple of miles, I can escape to run errands, drive tractors, or go to work. If she even thinks I am leaving her behind, she cowers down at my back tires, pulling a Helen Keller, and doesn’t respond to any commands. I have to go out there, tell her to knock it off, and give her a quick boot in the butt.
Here’s the problem: the whole time I am away, I want to be back home with the dumb-dumb. I want to feel her soft head against my cheek, hold her in my lap, or breathe in her incredible great smell. Does anyone else love to smell their dog’s ears and paws?
Finally, I roll up the driveway and, there in the window glass, I spy a white, wiggling body and an intent brown head staring at me with huge chocolate eyes. She is saved. Each time. That’s how dogs think–that you are leaving them forever. There is a flurry of hugs and kisses and greetings in my Mommy sing-song voice followed up with a stop at the treat jar and fifty shades of fetch.
Reunited, we settle into evening routines. Remi watches me cook, hoping I drop something, and I always do. If it is summer time, we go out to the lake after dinner and she goes swimming. Mmmm…wet dog smell. In the winter, we go for another run with the car. In between, we go camping as much as we can and hike the north woods together. She has a little plaid jacket to wear around the campfires on cool nights and a life jacket to wear when we are out fishing on the boat. Then there are days when we paddle our canoe. She is my Lieutenant Dan. 
Of course, Daddy is her hero. She sees him 1/10th of her day, but as soon as he walks in the door, I’m reduced to douche bag status. She hopes he is going bird hunting. Every day. Every time. watch?v=3TB5p6D-V9s&feature=youtu.be
It dawned on me that Remi has the perfect life. She even has a big chest and a little behind that would make Pamela Anderson jealous. There are no little kids in our home to pull what is left of her tail, there’s an endless supply of love, holes to dig, fields to run, and lots of vacations. In my next life, I want to be my dog!
Dairy Air