It’s pathetic, really. The way we gush and carry on over a stray mutt.
But she’s our stray mutt – and I would argue that she is probably the most well-loved and pampered mutt across this country. Or at least in the southernmost states.
The vet tells us to make up our own breed for her – she’s one of a kind. Of course, we already knew that. Her fine pedigree causes her hair to be wiry all over, with the exception of the top of her head where a fluff of hair sticks up proudly like a mohawk. Her tail is curled and poised like a show dog’s, but her ears are floppy and too big for her small face. Her chin has gray hair so scraggly and long that it appears she is trying to compete in a goatee contest, and her frame is too small for her tall legs. In other words, she’s perfect.
Grover Mae doesn’t know how lucky she is, although we try to tell her often. She doesn’t realize that not every dog gets hugs and kisses until it becomes obnoxious. She doesn’t realize that not every dog gets to choose where she will sleep at night – a cozy dog bed nook, or snuggled in between the pillows of a comfy couch, or even better, on top of her human’s legs in a bed that was once only meant for people. She doesn’t realize that not every dog gets a birthday party, complete with a home-made cake and cards.
No, Grover Mae spends her days happily chasing squirrels and begging for doggie snacks, not once stopping to think about how her life could have been so different.
If we hadn’t decided to keep her.
But we did. We couldn’t resist her the day she wandered into our backyard, skinny and shaking. Amelia threw her toddler arms around Grover Mae’s flea infested neck and cried, “Can I keep her?” with all the emotion a little girl can have. We relented to that tiny but strong-willed girl, and bought the dog a blue collar since we knew it was a boy. Hence the name Grover (we later had to feminize it after a quick check from the vet who was disappointed in our knowledge of dog anatomy). And then came the sickness with worms, and even worse, Parvo. And a stay in the doggie ICU. And lots and lots of dollars later.
Perhaps Grover Mae could have never found our yard that day. And she would be so lonely without us. She would never know the love that comes from somewhere deep down, the love that is shaped out of pure joy and selflessness. She wouldn’t know that she was missing out on all the hugs and kisses and snuggles on the couch. She would never understand all that she was losing by not being with us.
I tell her all of this as she sits on the couch beside me in the early hours of the morning and I stroke her belly. I tell her how wonderful her life is because we are in it, how lucky she really is that we saved her all those years ago. I tell her that she would be missing so much if she weren’t here and how life is so much better with humans in it.
She looks up at me with these perfectly round, big brown eyes. She cocks one floppy ear slightly higher than the other. She lets out a little whine to tell me she knows the truth.
She knows who saved whom all those years ago. She knows who would be so lonely if she had never shown up that day. She knows who the lucky ones are.
“Good,” I tell her as she settles back down on my lap. “I’m glad we have that straight.”
