I’ll admit that one of my dogs is my favorite. He makes my world. He’s sweet and loving and entirely too empathetic. All I have to do is make one sigh in frustration that something isn’t happening as I’d like it to, and he’s cuddling and consoling as though the world has ended and he’s trying to make me feel better.
It never fails. He does make me feel better. The Captain brings me a soggy tennis ball and then proceeds to push it against me with his nose (it’s disgusting) and I’ll get it and throw it for him (many times I’ll hit the wall and it’ll be the shortest retrieval in the history of the world…) and he’ll bring it back over and over again, pushing it with his nose against me over and over again…
I’ll be so annoyed, but at the same time I say, “Oh my gosh, Dog, I LOVE you!!!”
Rescue dogs, while a trial at first (Captain: hey, i’ll run away 30 times to see how loyal you are as an owner!) are such precious creatures. Yes, I want a great dane, an Irish Wolfhound, another Aussie Shepherd… But I’m certain that none of them will compare to The Captain. Not in a bad way, of course. The Captain is the first dog I acquired during my tenure in Oregon. He’s the first dog who owned me. He’s sweet and lovable and has personality like no other beast I’ve known. He’s saved my life, he comforts when I’m miserable or not (his empathy is ridiculously outrageous!) and he cuddles like no other. He’s my favorite because he’s also my heart.
Heartfelt Ramblings 