I am spending the weekend with another male and we are having a great time while my husband is taking a trip down memory lane at his high school reunion in a small corner of Connecticut.
My Maltese dog, Chance, is the perfect companion. He adores me. He doesn’t criticize me or make snarky comments when I flub up in the kitchen. He makes me laugh with his funny faces. I can say whatever I want to him and not have him bark back or interrupt. He looks like he is trying really hard to understand every word I am saying with his little five pound body shaking. He likes to be with me anywhere and he enjoys snuggling up against 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 had hair blowing in the breeze with the sun on our faces and no purpose other than to enjoy 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 more like dogs? Loyal, adoring, non confrontational and snuggly.
I dated a few dogs. But they were other breeds altogether. They tended to be strays and left me for other 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 Tennessee boy when I was just out of college. He reminded me of a Schnauzer with his Germanic last name, firm body, nice head of hair, precise manner and angular face. He eventually settled down in Birmingham, Alabama, just as I was taking off for New York City. That ended the 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, hairy Newfoundland with a big wet tongue.
My next love was an aristocatic Englishman. Very set in his ways. A true Brit, he loved his horses and hounds. He hounded me for six months and stole my heart. He warned me when we were listening to a song of a similar name, “I’m a wanderer.” In the end he was a real hound dog with wanderlust, with an accent mark on the lust. I thought of him today as the song “I’m a Wanderer” came on the radio when I was driving around with Chance.
English Foxhound
Long after the Brit broke my heart, he hounded another woman or two and eventually went back to the motherland. A few years later he wandered in front of a double decker bus once morning and became road kill.
There was a brief encounter with a young chef who stirred up my sexual juices and drove 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 he came along when I needed to get out of my post-British malaise. He’s married now with children and made a name for himself in the kitchen, on television and as a philanthropist. We are still friendly. When I think of him I remember him as my foxy boy toy.
Toy Fox Terrier
I adopted Chance after I clocked out of a series of bad dates, bad memories and bad vibes with assorted men. He was an abandoned puppy at Animal Rescue Fund in East Hampton. He looked at me with big round eyes and a lopsided grin with one tooth sticking 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 life to help ease me into my fourth decade and out of the pain of a old broken romance. It was serendipity: two creatures 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 longer with me and I 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 women like the English hound dog. He has a motorcycle but I don’t need to hop on the back of it and have a wild adventure to have a good time with him. We enjoy each other’s companionship doing simple things every day and specal things on other occasions.
When we first met and started sniffing each other out, I asked him if he liked small dogs. Some men don’t and that would have been a deal breaker. My husband David had a beagle named Tazzie whom he adored. Tazzie died after a long battle with cancer; David stood by Tazzie until the end.
Beagle
I can only imagine what went through David’s mind when I was diagnosed with cancer. And I can tell you, that man stood by me and 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 compliments and 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.
What I would tell the girls today is this: “A man is not a god. While many men, like my husband, are truly fantastic and a blessing to have in your 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 or too unworthy, and that they don’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 is supposed to be loving. A god is supposed to protect you. A god is supposed to give you comfort.
Like a dog.
Pensive Chance
