When I lived in Oakland, I always brought Vinnie to the dog boarding kennel Citizen Canine whenever I traveled for work or pleasure. Seattle doesn’t have a reasonable facsimile of Citizen Canine which is fine because friends (or family) often volunteer to look after each other’s animals. My friend – let’s call her Kajagoogoo – watches Vinnie whenever I travel, she has two dogs of her own but doesn’t mind looking after him. Kaj (her friends call her Kaj) has never traveled outside Seattle until Monday night when it came time for me to look after her dogs. Rather than keep three dogs in my apartment, I decided to take Vinnie with me and look after the dogs in her house. Observations result.
I decided that if we are to be together for a week, these three need a name. The Three Amigos is the only name I can conjure, although the three of them have yet to act as a pack. With the exception of eating their meals together, each dog acts independent of one another. When we walk, I am but the center of three leashes which are taught in different directions.
With every walk Vinnie and I take in Seattle, people stop us to comment on how he is the cutest dog ever (which he is). That usual conversation has taken a different course this week: walking Vinnie with two other dogs causes people to ask if I am a dogwalker. I chortle and answer simply, “No”. With that answer, in the eyes of these inquisitive people, I become the canine equivalent of a cat lady: he’s collected these dogs and takes turns kissing each one on his couch. An awkward silence lingers until the inquisitors leave and I so desperately want to finish the walk.
Occasionally, friends will ask if my partner and I want children. Any notions I ever entertained about having children someday are now extinguished. Dead, if you will. I awake at dawn to twelve feet running over my torso, picking up more waste than I ever dreamed possible on our walks. I make sure each dog eats only his meal, separating the bowls just far enough to keep the peace. When every little movement outside the house results in barking, I remind the dogs to keep quiet. I understand now why parents send their children to boarding schools miles from home: more time for personal pursuits and cocktails.
I’ve developed a great level of respect for Kaj and the care she’s given Vinnie along with her dogs. Such care requires full-time effort, the patience of a saint, and in my case at least two bottles of wine. With every passing minute I count the days when Kaj returns from her trip. I will greet her with open arms at the airport, holding back the tears, telling her how much she was missed. By her dogs, yes, but especially by me.