My human is single. She hasn’t been married or even in a domestic relationship — my furry little beagle body is the only other beating heart in her bed every night. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I am no Pongo from 101 Dalmatians — I don’t search dog parks for potential mates for my owner. In fact, the last thing I want is to end up with 101 beagles in our urban home. Have you heard a hound dog howl? No one wants to hear that in stereo.
But my human dates. She comes home starry-eyed and grinning like a fool; acting like she’s in love again — must be Tuesday. As I gnaw on a new bone, I watch her from my chair as she fixes her hair and paints her face. She’ll play the Dirty Dancing soundtrack and sing to herself as she prepares herself for another date.
It’s not that I don’t want her to be happy — it’s that I know I’ll be picking up the pieces of this mess in three months. And during that time, I become a left-out leftover as some transient monopolizes my cuddle time.
So when the sleepovers start, I wedge myself between their bodies and give them cute eyes as I roll onto my back and suggest belly rubs. When the sound of slow jams start to fill the room and she’s clearly trying to get her mack on, I bring my rope toy and drop it in her lap.
Basically, I kill her game.
Because these May-September romances don’t last — but my love is forever. None of these people are going to love my human like I do. Remember? I’m the lil guy.
The thing is, if my human was genuinely happy and I knew deep down in my beagle heart that someone was right for her — I’d support it. But it just hasn’t happened yet and I have and will continue to kibosh any fling I know won’t count.
And I will know when it’s right. I will know when I sniff their derriere.