Lion and Magic Boy

I’ve told you already that I’m not a Dog Person.

When Michael headed back west for Colorado at the beginning of the month, he naturally took Mickey with him. Mickey, for Michael, is like his child, his best friend of something like 12 years. I found it odd that people would ask me, “Did Michael take the dog?”, because it showed that they did not know the obvious, that The Dog was clearly Michael’s, that I was making a fine show of trying to love him too, but that I could not overcome my predjudices as a Cat Person, while for Michael? Mickey is his life.

I was convinced, then, that there wasn’t much of Mickey that I’d miss, even though (for a dog, and for me this is saying a lot) I did love him as best I could. But he was furry. Quite furry. I pulled long black Mickey furs from the most surprising places this past year, and the vacuuming tripled after Michael and Mickey moved in with us. And, being a dog (which by definition means that you don’t wear shoes), he Tracked Things In. I rarely said much but it was a concern this past year, and like I said, the vacuuming tripled. Maybe quadrupled, though I wouldn’t want to get carried away with my exaggeration..

The children, of course, miss him terribly since they didn’t have the overwhelming anti-dog prejudice that I did to overcome. If I haven’t made this clear, I was able, though Mickey, to go from crossing to the other side of a street in order to avoid any dog, to having one live in my house and sleep in my bedroom! Only a dog as special as Mickey could have walked me through that transition.

So while the drool, did I mention the drool? and the fur, and the dirt, are all decidedly Not Missed, it’s been clear what has, other than the energy of Mickey himself.

Platelicking.

While it bothered me no end that Michael would at times give Mickey huge chunks of $30/lb organic grass-fed filet mignon* from our plates, or some other especially toothsome tidbits, while I was all the time thinking: that’s the best part (have I made it clear enough yet that I Am Not a Dog Person?), I am now finding it especially burdensome to have to scrape plates before loading the dishwasher rather than simply put them down somewhere on the floor for the Automatic Tongue Dispenser Machine to come and pre-wash them (I did have to get over the dog-spit thing, but that didn’t take long) for us.

And crumbs now sit and taunt me on the floor rather than being handily removed also by the Automatic Tongue Dispenser Machine.

Enjoy Colorado, Mickey. Take good care of Michael for us.

*Okay, we only had this ONCE, but still.