A couple of years ago, I thought we would be getting a dog. Molly, to be exact, who belongs to Michael and Rosemarie. When they were looking for a place to live after moving to Canada, there was uncertainty whether they could find a place that would allow dogs. So, we prepared ourselves for the possibility that Molly would have to come to live at our place.
More accurately for me, the phrase may have been “resigned myself”. I’m not what you’d call a dog person. I’m not afraid of dogs. I’m just not uncomfortable around them. Loving though they may be, I still have to work through the “ick” at the thought of being licked by one, or the task of taking them out to let them pee on things, and to pick up after their poop.
But I have to admit that Molly changed my mind considerably. She’s a well-trained, easy-going creature. I’ve also changed my share of diapers, so the “ick” of wrapping my hand in a plastic bag to pick up poop isn’t nearly as strong as it might once have been.
Though, as an aside, could poop-and-scoop manufacturers please make their bags easier to open? It’s frustrating just standing there above a turd, leash in one hand, fiddling with the seams of a mini-garbage bag, trying to find an opening, while the dog is ready to go off on her next adventure.
One thing I could not dismiss, however, was how good Molly was for me, physically. The last several years have been a constant struggle to try and stay active and not fold myself away into my sedentary lifestyle. It’s been pock-marked by failures. Dieting? It’s strange how often people ask me if I want things to eat. Fitness club? That lasted a year, but then time constraints pressed so close, I finally managed to push through the guilt to call and cancel my membership. On the other hand, there’s no cancelling Molly’s walks.
Moving to the new neighbourhood has helped me walk more. I’m pleased to say that we almost never drive the kids to school anymore (the one exception was during a loathsome spell of freezing rain which somehow did not cause a snow day), and that has pushed my step count (thank you iPhone) consistently above 5,000 steps per day. Add Molly to the mix, and that number topped 10,000, which seems to be some threshold that allows you to say, “See? I’m an active person, now!”
But Michael and Rosemarie found a place that allowed them to keep Molly, and that really is for the best. Molly likes me, likes the kids, and loves Erin, but Michael is her man. To separate them would have been wrong. So, my bouts of walking Molly have been consigned to those times when we’ve had to babysit. And the hole in Erin’s life, as she calls it, continued unfilled.
Until now. After three months of struggling to find a rescue dog (and going through more difficult and more frustrating hoops than we’ve gone through to get first Erin and then Rosemarie and Michael through Canadian Immigration), we finally turned to a reputable breeder and got a glorious Golden Doodle (a golden retriever-poodle mix). We’ve named her Luna, after Luna Lovegood in the Harry Potter series (Vivian’s a fan).
Luna is soft-spoken but exuberant. She’s five months old, paper-trained, and the kids love her. More importantly, Erin is happy.
I’m not looking forward to the task of potty training, but I am looking forward to walking Luna. And she likes to be scratched behind the ears. It’s a happy scene all round, greeting the new arrival.
Well… almost happy all-round. Jasper’s not impressed…
