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I’ve been betrayed. This is no run-of-the-mill betrayal; this one is big. It’s my dog. I thought we had an understanding. I was sure he loved me. But I found out he wants me for my “creature comforts,” so to speak. He wants me for my bed. I found out accidentally, as with most betrayals. This didn’t even have to happen; it wasn’t necessarily bound to, but circumstantially I found out. I stayed with my friend, Wendy, for the night, and brought Fyfer with me. Neither he nor I are used to sleepovers, and he just couldn’t settle. I was offered an air mattress to sleep on, and while it wasn't terribly uncomfortable, it’s basically like sleeping on a pillow on the floor. Which was fine with me. But that’s when it happened. Fyfer’s true colors came out. Now, our usual routine at night is that I get into bed and Fyfer jumps up and throws his forty-pound body against mine so I can pet him to my (ha!) heart’s content. Did he join me on the air mattress? No. I repeat, no. He did not. He jumped onto Wendy’s bed, pushed his torso into her, and requested the nightly body rub—unabashedly, unashamedly, and obviously not realizing the import of the act to me, his mother and prime companion. In that single moment he betrayed me. It was clear it was not my attention he wanted each and every night previous, and yes, even since that night. He will accept full body petting from whomever might be in the most comfortable bed available in the room—any given room, at that! I’m not completely sure, but I think Fyfe even kissed Wendy the way he kisses me—all over the face until I have to push him away to take a quick breath. I’d rather not ask Wendy to confirm this; I’ll just live believing that act might not actually have happened. But I have my doubts.  |
