The other morning I was still wiping the sleep from my eyes when my dog did the dumbest thing she’s done lately. Sophie is twelve curly-haired pounds of sass. I don’t think there is any other way to describe her. I’m pretty sure she’s spent at least half of her nearly decade-long life giving me the side-eye because I still treat her like a 5 year old would treat a new puppy. I hold her like a baby. I grab her paws in my hands and make her dance like a dork to pop music. I ask her questions as if I’m talking to another adult human. She thinks I’m ridiculous. I think she’s the funniest creature I’ve ever seen.
I’ve had other dogs. My family had a great dog I picked out when I was a toddler. Her name was Molly and she put up with all of my little kid antics when I was, well… a little kid. I had Addie who was the same breed as the nut I have now, but without the the hilarious personality. I got Addie for my 9th birthday. She was everything a kid wants a dog to be. She was my best friend, my shadow. She never seemed to be rolling her eyes at me.
Then Sophie came along and changed the dog game forever. I’m not just saying that. I literally do not know any other animal like her. She’s cute, stereotypically cute. And she looks like a little priss with her big white curls, but she walks around my apartment burping like a grown man, and with this weird hacking cough she’s done since she was a tiny cotton ball puppy. She often tries to jump up on tall-ish pieces of furniture and misses because her little legs just aren’t strong enough to propel her up that high. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t laugh almost every time this happens. Sometimes I am in the right place to see the panicked look in her eyes as she realizes she isn’t going to make it. It’s comedy gold.
But she keeps trying anyway, because this dog is nothing short of “weird as hell”… and not lacking in perseverance.
So I’m pouring a cup of probably too strong coffee in the kitchen the other morning when I see that tiny maniac dragging two big toys along the floor. She’s not much for actually playing with toys. She never tears them up, she basically just sleeps on them or licks them to death. This particular morning she was up to something. I was at least awake enough to want to see how this would play out. So I followed her from the living room, down the hallway by the laundry and into my bedroom. I laughed as she tripped over the elephant which hung from her mouth. She stopped and adjusted, sort of walking sideways to compensate for the elephant’s space. Then she picked back up and marched right up to my bed, a height she can barely clear with nothing in her mouth.
I honestly didn’t think she would try it. I thought she’d have to be able to see it wouldn’t work. I even said aloud “that’s not going to end well”. She never even looked at me. She just jumped.
She jumped… and she missed like she’s never missed any target before. For a split second… after I watched her face smack into the side of my mattress… I couldn’t see anything but a ball of fur wrapped in gray elephant and pink lamb. I’m not even sure if what she did was a backflip or a somersault.
All I know is the look she gave me after she fell was the purest look of bruised ego I’ve ever seen. Then, I swear on my life, that darn dog picked both toys back up and dragged them back into the living room as if nothing had ever happened.
It’s okay, though. I’m certain she’s seen me do far more embarrassing things… and she had the decency not to write about them on the internet.
Elizabeth LaFleur 