A Boy and His Dog was a mid-1970’s science fiction movie set in the rubble of the U.S. destroyed by nuclear war. It features a young Don Johnson and his telepathic dog. The title is fetching. The film–while flawed and violent–is darkly comic and memorable.
I’m reminded of the relationship between the boy and his dog after impulsively giving into my longstanding dog lust. A beautiful German Shepard puppy needed a home, and we adopted her a few weeks ago. I call our pup the toddler-bomb because we went from a calm and sedate mid-life household to the chaos of owning a large eight-month old Shepard.
It’s been two weeks, and life has changed. Lots of long walks. Lots of lost sleep. A mountain of dog hair. Two pissed off cats. The gamy smell of a house inhabited by a dog. Most of my friends and family shake their heads, roll their eyes, and question my sanity.
I guess that’s a reasonable reaction. She’s turned the world upside down. For those who have noticed a slowing my blogging, blame the pup.
She’s a challenge for a 50-year old guy, but she comes with laughs and love. The best laugh came via my beloved, who pointed out that while I was at low risk for running off with a young trophy wife, the pup would be the best prophylactic for any notion of having babies in a new life. “You’re too old!” she snorted. She’s so right.
We’ve had our ups and downs. The worst was when she lunged at my beloved’s best friend. And then there are the p.o.’d cats and the barking. But on the upside, the long walks get my out of my head, and they have helped to melt the excesses of my bulging middle. And she’s filled us with love and laughter. So yeah, it’s good.
The wise ones at doggy obedience school–yes, we’re doing that–tell me that Shepards need a job. Ellie has a job, which is getting this middle aged guy out of his head and off of his couch. She’s doing it beautifully. And so a middle aged boy and his dog are doing well.