That’s Very Important Dog.
-The Jackson installment-
Sometimes you meet a great dog. And you dub him or her your “favorite.” Well, I’ve had lots of favorites working at MoJo’s Backyard. In fact, I’d say that all the dogs have at one point in time been my “favorite.” I liken it to Ben and Jerry’s ice cream: you love them all but once you find a perfect flavor, your arm automatically reaches for it every time.
Right now, his name is Jackson and I love him. I am In Love with him. I feel ashamed saying this because what about Jedi, Layla, Buttercup, Dutch, Roxy, Jack, Buddy… Shhh, they don’t really have to know about me and Jackson do they? I still love them just as much and still get just as excited to see them through the glass about to walk through MoJo’s’ doors. But at this moment in time, I have tunnel vision and in the distance this chocolate and cream spaniel is all I see.
I think about his curly ears and big, velvet nose all the time. When I go into the “Neverland” play area (Yes, all our play areas have cute names! And no, this is not the Michael Jackson Neverland, it is the Peter Pan Neverland.) he always greets me, putting his soft paws on my chest and nuzzling my shoulder with his whiskery face. He looks at me adoringly and is the epitome of a little boy. He’s gentle and playful, smart and funny; just all around a good dog. Believe me when I say that it’s a good thing I don’t work in a shelter. And also that I live with someone who actually realizes houses should have limits on living beings within its walls. (Enter: The Crazy Dog Lady.)* And finally, that I’m pretty sure running away to Mexico with someone else’s dog would get me fired, arrested and otherwise make my life difficult and/or unpleasant. But those round, shiny eyes do penetrate to my core and sometimes “love” just doesn’t seem like a strong enough word. Okay, enough with the mushy clichés. Let’s just leave it at I love my job and at MoJo’s Backyard, we really do love your dog.
*You’ve heard of the crazy cat lady. Well, subtract the cats, replace with dogs and keep the bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers and you have me, The Crazy Dog Lady. I live on the end of your street, frighten your kids by reputation alone and people only ever seem to see me at night (howling at the moon, some say). My shutters are always drawn and it’s just as well because once a solicitor made it to the threshold, glimpsed my hair curlers and the half-masticated toy squirrel in hand and never returned to the tri-county area. People love to point and whisper but still dump their unwanted dogs at my doorstep. And I take them in. All of them. I love dogs. Call me what you will but I know it doesn’t matter what people think. People are too judgmental and it’s all relative anyway. Dogs can sense a good heart and therefore give me all the confirmation and acceptance that I will ever need. To you, I’m “crazy”; to them, I’m “mom.”