Our Dog Is Not A Human, But…

I’ve heard stories about dogs are fierce popular, so I thought I’d jump on the bandwagon this week.

Our dog is not a replacement human. We don’t dress her in jackets – why do that when she has fur. She is not our fur baby and we are not her mum and dad. This is what I tell myself as I bring the dog to the vets for an operation.

This is a routine procedure. I am from a family of vets, so I know what power their hands hold. And yet…

The vet’s surgery smells of antiseptic and fur. I wait and keep watch for other dogs, for a sudden straining at the lead. The vet comes out and I expect him to swoop down and snatch her. But there is admin to be done.

I draw wobbly letters on an iPad, consenting to let the vet’s firm, gentle hands do their work. Our dog wriggles on the scales and her lead works its way under her legs.

‘She needs to be relaxed,’ the vet says.

Is that the dog or the owner?

And then the dog is gone, and my hands grasp empty air. I pound machines at the gym; then go home to my computer and wonder why words are slow to come. In the garden, the birds can dance around, with no dog to bark at them. A cat preens on a wall.

Photo Description: Here’s our dog Maeve, a black and tan Yorkie cross. She’s wearing a red harness and is sitting on a pink and black blanket.

We go to collect her; gain, we wait. We make small talk with a couple full of the excitement of a new pup. And then a voice says:

‘Look who’s waiting for you outside.’

There our dog is, bounding towards us. After an ecstatic belly rub, I look up and the person who brought her out is gone. I have forgotten to thank her – in that moment, she ceased to exist.

The dog trots home beside us. That night, as a special treat, she’s allowed to curl up at the bottom of our bed.

Our dog is not a replacement human. We don’t dress her in jackets – why do that when she has fur. She is not our fur baby and we are not her parents. But we love the way she leaps into my place on the couch as I approach and dares me to move her.

Her urchin face when she’s begging for food. And her concerned face when I’m shouting at my computer, the face that brings me back to myself. It is her dogness that we love.

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