My Maltese dog, Chance, is the perfect companion. He adores me. He doesn’t criticize me or make snarky comments when I flub upin the kitchen. He makes me laugh with his funny faces. I can say whatever I want to him and not have him bark backor interrupt. He looks like he is trying really hard to understand every wordI am saying with his littlefive pound bodyshaking.He likes to be with me anywhere and he enjoyssnuggling upagainst me in bed. He loves me unconditionally and is truly loyal.
Today we took a ride in my red convertible. Both of us have very light colored hair. His is white; mine is platinum blonde. Both of us hadhairblowing in the breeze with the sun on our faces and no purpose other than toenjoy the beautiful, warm Spring day.There was no one barking at me to speed up or slow down or watch the bumps in the road.
Why can’t all men be morelike dogs? Loyal, adoring, non confrontational and snuggly.
I dated a few dogs. But they were other breeds altogether. Theytended to be strays and left me forother mistresses.
My first boyfriend was true puppy love. He was my first crush, my first kiss at age 12. His nickname was Smoky as in smokin’ hot. Later when he encountered the law it stood for what illegal substance he was selling. His smokin’ self and our relationship 
fizzled out quickly.
I had a long distance romance with a TennesseeboywhenI was just out of college. He reminded me ofa Schnauzer with his Germanic last name, firm body, nice head of hair, precise mannerand angular face.He eventually settled downin Birmingham, Alabama, just as I wastaking offforNewYork City.Thatendedthe relationship.
Giant Schnauzer
My first romance in New York was a three year mess.I was fixated on the wrong person for the wrong reasons but at the right time for my raging hormones.He was a big guy with a lot of chest and back hair, and I used to tell him he was like sleeping with a six foot furry dog….that shedded in my bed and
Newfoundland
shower. He was like a large loopy, hairyNewfoundland with abig wet tongue.
My next love was an aristocatic Englishman. Very set in his ways. A true Brit, he loved his horses andhounds. He hounded me for six months and stole my heart. He warned me when we were listeningto a song of a similar name, “I’ma wanderer.”In the endhe was a realhound dog with wanderlust, with an accent mark on the lust. I thought of him todayas thesong”I’m a Wanderer” came on the radio whenI was driving around with Chance.
English Foxhound
Long after the Brit broke my heart, hehoundedanother woman or twoand eventually went back to the motherland.A few years laterhe wandered in front of a double decker bus once morning andbecame road kill.
There was a brief encounter with a young chef who stirred up my sexualjuices anddrove me around on the back of his Ducati motorcycle to New York clubs in the wee hours after he got off work. I was ten years older than him, and hecame along when I needed to get out of my post-British malaise. He’s married now with children andmade a name for himself in the kitchen, on televisionand as a philanthropist. We are still friendly. When I thinkof him I remember him as myfoxy boy toy.
Toy Fox Terrier
I adopted Chance afterIclocked out of aseries of bad dates, badmemories and bad vibes with assorted men.He was an abandoned puppy at Animal Rescue Fund inEast Hampton. Helooked at me with big round eyes and a lopsided grin with one toothsticking out. His expression said, “Please take me home. I’m scared and lonely.” I answered, “I’m lonely and scared of growing old alone.”And off we went in another convertible- this one white- to a new life.I was a single women turning 40 with no man in my lifeto help ease meinto my fourth decade and out of the pain of aold brokenromance. It was serendipity: twocreatures looking for unconditional love after being abandoned.
We’ve been together ever since- 13 or 14 years- I can’t keep count and really don’t care to. Chance is still adorable and still loves to go on joyrides with me in my car. He is a little more crotchety and finicky in his mature age, but aren’t we all?
My husband reminds me that Chance is getting old so I can “be mentally prepared” for when he leaves us. But I don’t want to think about it; I am still stinging from watching my father grow old and sick and succumb to cancer in 2009. He was the big man in my life. Chance is the little guy. I can’t think about the day when he is no longerwith me andI can’t call out his name and see him come running with that “What’s Up?” look.
I married a great guy with all the dog qualities I would want in a man: loyal, loving, adorable, snuggly, big and comforting, hair in all the right places. He doesn’t shed in the shower or bed or get loopy drunk like the Newfoundland. He doesn’t wander away sniffing at other womenlike the English hound dog. He has a motorcycle but I don’t need to hop on the back of it andhave a wild adventure to have a good time with him. We enjoy each other’s companionship doing simple things every day and specal things onother occasions.
When we first met and started sniffing each other out, I asked him if he liked small dogs. Some men don’t andthat would have been a deal breaker.My husband David had a beagle named Tazzie whom he adored. Tazzie died after a long battle withcancer; David stood by Tazzie until the end.
Beagle
I can only imagine whatwent through David’s mind whenI was diagnosed with cancer. And I can tell you, that man stoodby meand was my watchdog when I went through my operations, treatment and recovery. Fiercely protective and loving.
Growing up in the South we girls were taught to treat the boys and the men like gods. We worshipped them, waited on them, fed them complimentsand laughed at their corny jokes. Well, other girls did. Not me. I wanted it the other way around; the guy should worship me, the goddess. That’s how my Dad was with my mother for 52 years.
WhatI would tell the girls today is this: “A man isnot agod. While many men, like my husband, are truly fantastic and a blessing to have inyour lives,that is not always the case for many women in this world.There are many men with ungodlike traits. God doesn’t cheat on women. God doesn’t physically or mentally abuse women. God doesn’t tell women they are too fat,too lazy ortoo unworthy, and that theydon’t measure up to their fantasy woman. God does not disrespect women. God did not put women on this Earth to treat them like dirt.”
A god issupposed tobeloving. Agod is supposed to protect you. A god is supposed to give you comfort.
Like a dog.
Pensive Chance
