oh my dog

“Will you leave me if I can’t remember how to be happy again?” I asked Sam who was cocooned into his side of the bed.

For two years, our dog, Roz, preferred to sleep on the floor next to Sam. I’d dutifully spend the remaining wisps of my evenings sitting next to her, rubbing those velvety ears between my fingers, taking advantage of the fact that she was too sleepy to protest. Then, Sam got a noise machine to drown out our horrid neighbors and Roz promptly moved to the bathroom, the static-y sounds of the ocean disturbing her sleep. (Or so I assume.) Still, I continued to come to his side of the bed to chat at night.

Sam answered my question the same logical way he answers all the dumb things I ask him. “It’s not likely,” he told me, “but there’s always a chance.”

My cheeks flushed the second he said it. Always a chance? How dare he entertain my insecurities during such a vulnerable time. “Take it back,” I growled as his eyes sleepily closed shut. Sam yawned and turned his back to me. “I take it back,” he mumbled.

I was angry. SO angry. I decided to stay up for the rest of the night. I’d sit on the floor, next to Sam’s side of the bed, and give him a look nasty enough to bore through his skull and into his brain. I’ll show him chance! I’d stare all night if I had to, right on through to the morning hours when he’d stretch awake, open his eyes, only to be greeted with my bleary scowl. I hadn’t been sleeping since the murders anyway, now I had something to do. A project to keep me busy until the morning when I wouldn’t have to be alone with my thoughts anymore.

Right as I was zeroing in on the apex of my outrage, eyes burning from the lack of blinking, Roz came out of the bathroom and began licking my feet. A lot of licking. Like, a military-reunion-level of affection. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but Roz is what some people (me) in the pet biz (currently unemployed) call stand-offish (yup). When Roz and I take walks (if she lets me leash her) and dog-lovers approach asking if she’s friendly, I always say, “She’s friendly, but she’s not nice.”

Ultimately, Roz is her own self. She doesn’t like to cuddle and prefers to be petted on her terms. When reaching out to touch her, Roz will often rear onto her hind legs and use both of her paws to push your hand toward the floor. She’ll leave a room if you are too loud and often puts herself to bed. Roz is 2 years old—a puppy—but has the demeanor of an old bloodhound.

While I could never truly know where Roz’s Ice Queen behavior comes from, I can say for certain it’s not genetic. I know all of her siblings intimately, and not a one of them is like our Roz.

1. Menma is the smallest and the smartest. She died during birth, only to make a full comeback through what I’m guessing was puppy CPR. She was adopted by a young couple who both work at a hospital. Menma looks exactly like Puma, her mom, with the same black coat and pointy ears, but is about a quarter of Puma’s size. Thus, she has earned the nickname Mini Me.

2. Coco, the second smallest lady, with Kid Princess energy, went home to a party planner with a young daughter. The party planner already had an older chihuahua-ish dog and recently got a kitten because (I’d wager) she’s addicted to adorable things. Coco is like a tinier, whiter, wispier version of Roz. For this reason, Coco will always break me into a million pieces.

3. Janeway is a bowling ball trapped in an oddly-shaped dog’s body.  She has the same hotdog trunk and stubby legs inherited by all the siblings, but her short caramel coat makes the whacky proportions stand out more. Janeway was adopted by a cute tatted couple, who recently ditched city life and bought a house in the woods. She’s as goofy and impulsive as her owners. The last time we saw her, Janeway sweetly climbed into Sam’s lap for a better view of the party—Roz, on the other hand, has never climbed into anyone’s lap.

4. Storm is the largest girl and has a glorious all-black coat that is shinier and softer than any of the other dogs. (The secret, according to her owner, is melon.) Storm went home with a popular travel photographer who got bored during the pandemic and released a surprisingly successful cookbook. Storm holds herself with a subtle elegance that wasn’t passed down to any of the other girls.

5. Monty is the first-ever dog for an anxious empty-nester. He has the temperament of the Tasmanian devil on crack. I once saw him clamp down on Puma’s butt, his biological mother, who patiently stepped away from the outburst. His nervous and well-meaning owner is terrified she’s going to do something wrong, and for this reason, he’s the most cared-for pup in the bunch. Monty looks like the grey-boy version of Roz and therefore his frenetic barking and lunging will never bother me.

6. Cosmo went to a lady from a big family who spends most of her time working in the ER. She lost her parents at, or around, the start of the pandemic—I like to think she connected with Cosmo right when she needed him most. Because of her odd hours, Cosmo grew up with a lot of aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews. That dog is a real family man; loyal and protective to a fault.

7. Bocelli looks like a teddy bear, acts like a teddy bear, and probably is a teddy bear. I am so bummed we didn’t take him home with us too—but it took me 7 years to convince Sam to get one dog and I was hard pressed to get him on board for two. Instead, Bo went to a woman who wanted something small and cuddly to keep her company during the pandemic. Eight months after she adopted Bo, she found out she was pregnant. As such, Bo has taken on his big brother/teddy bear role with aplomb.

8. Kaido is enormous. He’s probably got 20 + pounds on lil’ Menma. At first, Kaido went home with someone who didn’t understand that puppies are cry-shit-pee factories resulting in Kaido’s prompt return (much to everyone’s horror). The attractive influencer couple whose dog, Puma, accidentally got pregnant with these 9 beacons of joy, drove Kaido down to Florida where a cousin took him in. This big boy’s rocky start has no impact on his present-day because he spends his time prancing up and down the streets of Miami, picking up chicks, photobombing teens, and living the life.

Nine puppies born on the same day in the same place to the same parents. And yet they act so differently. This makes me think their personalities are a product of the environments in which they were raised; Menma is obedient because her owners have the patience and tenacity needed to be successful medical professionals. Bo is a snuggle bug because a pregnant person held onto him during her most vulnerable time. Storm is fancy because she lives with an artist. And so on...

Then there’s our Rozzy Bear. Our peculiar, scraggly, stubborn, curious, and stand-offish dog. She is drawn to people but hops away when they get too close. She is intelligent and intuitive, knows all of the commands, but won’t do them unless there’s something in it for her. She can be hard to understand but is completely worth the trouble of figuring out. My favorite quality of Roz’s is the fact that her affection has to be earned. And for whatever reason, on the night I was sitting and fuming at Sam, Roz decided I’d earned her affection.

Roz began licking my ankles and my heart rate slowed. She moved to my calves and I decided not to leave Sam. When she got to the folds of my knees, I began to worry I’d have to shower again. She switched to my kneecaps and I felt the murky haze of my depression lifting. Then, she suddenly stopped and walked off, apparently done with her duties for the night. Which is a shame because I could almost feel tingles of happiness.

At that point, I was no longer irate, simply irritated—a nagging emotion I’d grown to understand intimately after getting hit by a car. Trauma turns to anger turns to annoyance turns to sadness then it begins all over again but in a different order. Wounds of today constantly pulling at scars of the past.

I can’t imagine I’ve been an easy person to be around lately. It seems my soul is not built for adult life in the modern world, the pace of it…I oscillate from feeling powerful and in control to spiraling through the harsh uncertainties of life. One or the other, never in between.

My college best friend once said to me, “It must be exhausting being you.” And it is, but as tiring as it is to be me, I can only imagine it’s worse to be married to me; my mood swings, indecisiveness, incurable bleeding heart. I just hope, like Roz, I’m also completely worth the trouble of figuring out.

Sam began slightly snoring and Roz was out of sight. I no longer had the energy or impulse to cast my anger at the person I love most in the world, but the thought of lying down—with all my sticky and broken feelings swirling between my ears—was untenable. I went to sit in the living room instead. 

Sam’s parents were in town and staying with us, which made me self-conscious about my sitting in the dark living room alone, staring off into the nothingness like some Victorian widow. I shrunk in shame at the thought of how strange I must seem, how worried my late night ennui would make anyone who’d come across me.

So, I opened my computer and began to type up the story of what happened this evening. At least that way, if anyone stumbled upon me, it’d look like I was doing something productive…a writer struck with inspiration, instead of a listless woman, spiraling through the harsh uncertainties of life.

Hi. I still hate the internet, but I love these nice things:

1. WHY ARE WE FIGHTING? - My dear friend Amy Dallas Dunayevich has a very eye-opening substack discussing the insidious nature of conflict. This post in particular is a splendid highlight of her incredibly necessary work.

2. Puma’s Instagram - It’s hard to put into words how much it means to me to stay connected to Roz’s mom, siblings, and the people who love them. We’ve become this odd, mostly-digital family of sorts. These dogs are the sole reason I haven’t burned my Instagram account to the ground…yet.

3. Soppy - This book sits in my entryway, one of the pages is framed next to my bed. Philippa Rice’s insanely intimate and specific illustrations echo so much of my relationship with Sam. Her work feels like warm tea on a cold night or, if you prefer, cold tea on a warm night.