There’s a dog next door to the place where I am staying. He is kind of a low-rider pit, and though he isn’t the happiest dog I’ve ever seen, he isn’t all that sad, either.

The story is that Gucci lives outside 365 days a year 24/7. No one really comes out to play with him, and he is shy to meet your gaze. Lest he get his hopes up. Andrew says that he doesn’t know who actually owns the dog.

So I decide to investigate.

Gucci was so covered in fleas that you could see them jumpin’ around from a pretty good distance. I got some flea-blaster pills from the vet and marched on over to Gucci’s house and a guy answered and I said, “Hey the fleas are really bad this year and these are the only pills that worked with my dog.”

The dude was suspicious, but looked like the kind of guy who’s suspicious of everybody anyway.  So I said, “Hey your dog is nice, OK that I gave him a bone?” (you know, through the fence)

He softened,  and that’s when I went in for the kill and got the full 411. It was revealed to me that the dog belonged to this guy’s brother, that the brothers haven’t talked in a bit (prison?), that he would LOVE to get rid of Gucci’s fleas, that no, he never brings Gucci in the house on account of the fleas and other things, and thanks for the flea meds. Kiss kiss.

Now I am going to pause here to say that by the time I talked to Gucci’s uncle, I had already made friends with this dog. He is kinda a whore dog, and hangs out at the fence hoping for some action. He wags. He dares to look up. And if you thread your fingers through the fence to scratch him he leans in as far as he possibly can.

Gucci wasn’t miserable despite his relative isolation, because he got to touch noses and connect the tiniest bit, if even through a fence. He wasn’t miserable, he was just okay, but he could have been so much better if he could have gone all in and relaxed next to his person.

I bet he dreamt of that each night.

 

And that is when it hit me over the head like a sack of monkeys.

I’m Gucci. I’m not miserable. I touch noses through the gate because I bother to show up at the dang gate. I got company. A little bit, anyway. I’m fed and I’m ok.  I’m afraid to look up too. I was close to my person once. I haven’t been close to my person in a very long time. This is okay, but sometimes I’d like to relax into three or ten years of closeness…on the first date. Because THAT is where I should be. Certainly NOT dating, again.

Gucci and I are both getting enough. We are fed and admired from the distance. But we certainly are not primally and  fundamentally loved right now.

Still, do not fret. For there is a Part 2.pitiand good things always happen to dog lovers. Just you wait.