I think the only perfect love I have is between me and my dog. I once thought that expectation soured love, but Lucy, my Poodle/Portuguese Waterdog mix, and I are full of expectation for one another. She expects me to feed, water, pet her, take her on occasional outings and several daily trips outside; I expect her to obey my every command, express infinite devotion towards me with her eyes and touch, and warn me of possible danger nearing our home--usually in the form of terribly threatening leaves blowing across the porch, neighborhood teens keeping late-night hours, and countless disturbances merely phantoms to me. Our love will transcend all trials life throws at us: I will clean up her messy accidents, she will lick my smelly foot, I will pull countless slimy cottonballs from her ears, she will be my eager kitchen assistant. If I should meet my end of days before she, there will never be another master to replace me in her heart, and her character will never be the same. If she should go before I, I will treat her ailments with great dignity, even allowing her a peaceful passing in lieu of needless suffering--a privilege we Americans don’t even allow our human companions. Future dogs which I may own will also receive my love, but it will never replace or belittle my love for Lucy.
Men? Now that’s a different story. Gone is the simplicity. Forget about understanding being passed one to the other through a gaze. No man I have met has wanted to lick my smelly feet. Yes, that was a joke.
I can remember first pledging my love in the second grade. Being struck by the romantic associations surrounding Valentine’s Day, I wrote Louie L. a very sappy love note. I mean, sappy. The drama was ON. I didn’t even shirk from mentioning marriage. I was too naive (or too wise?) to keep said note from my mother, though, and read it to her for her approval. I was a budding writer, and this was my first dramatic love story--I had to share it! Mom was not too pleased. She was very kind, though, and although her words escape me, I do remember her gently steering me away from giving him the note.
Good thing I didn’t...my “forever love” for Louie was fleeting, quickly being replaced by a regular rotation of several boys in my school. One rule of thumb was quickly becoming clear...this puppy love was a game. Once you had it, the thrill of the chase (literally, sometimes, on the playground) was gone. Relationships lasted a week, usually. Three weeks was like a golden anniversary and nearly unheard of. And anyone who pledged love for me persistently was not at all interesting, but instead sort of sad. When puppies play hunt and chase with each other, they freeze for a short moment once the achieve the mount, or the jaws around the neck. They sort of look around in a clueless fashion, wondering what to do next...and just like this was our “Puppy Love”.
Sadly, it WAS a version of this that we all played as we got older. It awkwardly transitioned into pain and disappointment as hormones factored in. We started kissing, and a whole world of physical pleasured opened up to us, and we wanted more.
TO BE CONTINUED...
