My home is 100% dog and puppy-proof. By this I mean, there’s nothing at ankle level or thereabouts, that’s edible or could be a delicious chew toy. I’ve obviously learned through past expensive mistakes (goodbye Manolos), that even an adult dog could find something that smells of me (his person), fair game. I learned about separation anxiety, and thunder vests, and fear-responses and over-friendlyness and dogs being dog-selective. Being “dog-selective” is sort of like being people-selective I guess. I love looking at the world and wondering what they think about all the goings on around us.

When we enter the lift and the doors close and then re-open to the floor with the grass and gravel, what do they make of it? Do they think it’s a magical transport box?

If you ask my dog - Why must we pee on all the things outdoors? He’d likely respond with “Why not?” I mean… fair enough I suppose.

It’s funny that all the things that bug me about people - chewing loudly, burps, farts, they are extremely endearing when my dog does them. If it’s too hot and he can’t be bothered to continue our walk, I’ll carry all 9 kilos of furry, hot-panting dog and finish my walk. Some people joke that my little dogs are my baby substitutes. Umm… nope. Babies grow up. Babies have so many more needs than dogs. Babies responsibilities are way more vast than just feeding and changing a diaper. I am equipped to manage and care for four-legged beings, of this I am certain and I know that I am good at.

Like many dog owners with middle-aged dogs or dogs that are breaching the ‘senior’ category, I am acutely aware of their mortality as small health issues creep up on us. How can something that’s so lovely, so pure, full of joy only live an average of 10 years? Sigh. I am consoled by the thought that we will meet our pets in the afterlife, whatever that be. For now, I continue to live and laugh with my little furry dictators in the present, trying to commit every one of their butt waggles and snaggle-tooth smiles to memory.

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