My son and his partner live with me. They each have a cat. Now...while teh pooties always get my respect, when they moved in with me, I was not starved for attention or love, but I was missing something, nonetheless.
More below.
Now, I had a dog in the sixties named Sammy. Sammy was a Springer Spaniel. Beautiful, sweet, and smarter than most humans I knew, she was a constant friend to me.
Sadly, the very day Bobby Kennedy was killed, I found her body near my neighbor's fence. She had run off after a mole (chasing moles was a hobby none could assuage) and had tried to chase it under the fence. Sadly, my precious woozle got stuck under the fence, and had died struggling under it.
Now, when I moved into this house my sons were about to start high school, and I got them a Brittany Spaniel rescued by my vet. Merlin, as we named him, was a constant companion of my boys, and he lived a long and full life. He, sadly passed of old age a few years ago.
So it was that I deigned that hell would freeze over before I got another dog.
Yet we don't choose our pooties and woozles, do we?
They choose us.
And Angus found me as my other dogs had.
Angus T. Beefy, as we call him, was found by my daughter-in-law's mother. He was walking the roads, nothing more than a pup--four months was the vet's best estimate--looking for his new pets.
And, being a non-lonely lonely man, I was happy to oblige.
See, Angus is an old man wrapped in a young dog's body. He's snarky. Veeeerrry snarky and veeeeery cynical.
Can't you see the snark?
He has his quirks, too. Oh yes. He can't sleep in my bed without his constant companion, Mr. Bear, a gift from my wonderful daughter-in-law.
Now, I tolerate much as an old man. So I don't begrudge him his little quirks. Especially when he gives me a reason to walk. I often go on walks. It helps me stay active with COPD, and with COPD, believe me it pays to try and stay active. Plus, if my son and his partner are gone on vacation in Tennessee, or if they are off to the park, he provides excellent conversation.
See, my son's cat cares nothing for good conversation. He likes laying in the sink:
And...well, that's...that's about it.
Angus, on the other hand, is an ardent liberal that loves shouting at the clouds with me! It's fun stuff!
And...well, he's also nice to the pooties.
Because sometimes peace is all we can really hope for in a crowded house!
But honestly, I think Angus came to me because he sensed there was an old man out there, an old man with a lot of baggage, grief, love, and time on his hands. An old man that wakes up extra early to feed and walk him. And he just couldn't resist.
(Please post lots of pootie pics in the comments! I gotsta hab em!)