Oliver Wilkes Dogg (Puggle extraordinaire) is my non-human life partner and we have a codependent relationship. We are not ashamed. Oliver is the literal reason that I get out of bed in the morning (around 9 when he wants to go out after his post-breakfast nap.) Oliver is the reason I get exercise (because I have to race through the house telling him not to pee on something before I can get him outside.) Oliver is my napping buddy. Oliver is a source of joy and laughter and unconditional affection. Oliver is terrible in the best way.
Oliver eats our underwear. Oliver unabashedly goes to the bathroom as a means of punishing us for wrongs we don’t know we’ve committed. Oliver carries the skins of his stuffed animal victims around with him. Except Burnie, Oliver loves his dragon, Burnie, and has left him mainly intact.
Oliver eats like a goat… paper towels, tissues, any kind of food, plastic, money hair accessories, or bath accessories. You name it, Oliver has swallowed it whole and lived to tell the tale in the voice that we use to talk for him.
Oliver sleeps like this:
… especially when we’re upset with him.
Or like this:
… because he is a master manipulator and uses his powers of puppy-face against us so we don’t kill him.
Oliver is my best friend. When my head hurts, Oliver says, “Mama and I have a migraine,” and he curls up under the covers and naps all day with no complaints. When I’m upset, or having a really bad pain day, he puts himself across my body like a seat belt and keeps me warm and secure. He isn’t afraid of my meltdowns. He doesn’t mind that sometimes I’m not in the mood for his whimsy. He just carries on being whimsical at me until I am in the mood. He licks my feet when they are freezing. He gets his one kiss a day. Petting him makes me feel nice. I have trouble sleeping when he is elsewhere.
I have a codependent relationship with my dog, and that’s okay.