There’s something quite strange about being in love with a dog. Its an odd relationship. Some would argue that it is one sided, how can you get enjoyment from something that doesn’t really understand where you are coming from, can’t communicate in a human way, can’t validate your feelings or even argue you with you? In my mind, this is what makes it so easy.
I was 11 years old when my parents finally agreed to buy me a dog. After years of whingeing, pleading, dragging Avocado into the mix to help me whinge and plead, writing small books specifically about how I would care for the chosen puppy…
OK. I have to stop there. As I type this, said dog is doing his business on our oriental rug. Old habits die hard.
Back to 1998. We drove out to somewhere in the middle of nowhere, to a cocker spaniel breeder, we had collectively decided that this docile breed would suit us quite nicely. In the corner of this woman’s verandah, hidden behind an enormous pot plant, was a tiny little black puppy. They say you shouldn’t pick the quiet puppy, the runt, the underachiever. But I loved him from the minute I saw him and none of his rowdy golden brothers were going to change my mind.
I called him Elmo and he cried the whole way home. He cried as we set him up a little box bed. He cried while I tried to feed him dinner. He cried all night while I was trying to sleep. Definitely not what I bargained for but I loved him all the same.
Nutcase. Over-indulged. Spoilt. Whiny. All words that people have used to describe Elmo over the years.
He is a true nutcase in every sense of the word, no one could ever ring the door-bell without Elmo having a fit, racing down and skidding on the floorboards as he approached the end of the hallway. We used to have to lock him in my bedroom for ten minutes after people arrived, so he could calm down.
Mum and I used to spend Sunday evenings cooking Elmo huge plates of sausages to eat for dinner during the week. Ok, maybe that was slightly excessive and indulgent for a little cocker spaniel.
After he turned a year old, we bought him a kennel so that he could sleep outside. He and I were both traumatised. He used to cry down our side path next to the kennel for about an hour every night, until finally I would creep out and carry him back in to my bed. Alright, so he is a bit spoilt.
Anytime we leave the house and ‘abandon’ Elmo in the front yard he howls, his head tilted backwards in distress. I truly believe, all evidence to the contrary, that he doesn’t think we are coming back. That is a bit whiny I suppose.
In honour of his 11th birthday this Sunday, Bacon and I spent the morning shaving Elmo’s fur – leaving him with a very cute tuft of hair on his head that resembles a mohawk. Or at least it will once we get some gel onto it.
After all these years, Elmo is now relatively deaf and almost completely blind but he still manages to keep us entertained, keep us warm and remind us how it is possible to be completely in love with a four legged creature.
“How many people can make you feel as rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel as extraordinary?”
– Marley and Me By Josh Grogan
Lucindarella's Adventures 