I’m typing this achingly slowly, just my right hand, because there is a little dog on my lap with his nose wedged into the crook of my left elbow. Every once in awhile he sighs his happy sigh and nuzzles his face in. He has a large vocabulary of sighs, most of them tragic, and so the happy sigh I am particularly susceptible to, and the little nuzzle just about destroys me. But if you’re a friend of mine on Facebook, you are already fully aware of how crazy I am about my little Crombomb, and how thoroughly I have embraced being That Crazy Dog Person.
He is a pain in the butt but he is also My Little Shining Piece of Light Broken Off the Sun and etc. and yes, the fastest way to my heart is to tell me how ridiculously adorable my little dog is and how awesome his ears are and how smart he is and how he should be elected President of All Dogs in the Universe and get a small crown. If you like my dog, I like you. I have always been suspicious of people who don’t smile at dogs; if you don’t smile at my dog, I know you are the reason evil exists.
My roommate has always wanted a dog. When he moved in, he said, “Can I get a dog too?” and I said “Ha ha ha, you shut up and just pay your rent, clown nozzle.” But for some reason I caved. Okay, for a Crom reason. I hate leaving Crom alone in the house when I’m gone for hours. And I guess I could let Rod fulfill his dream or whatever. So we hit up an adoption event, “just to look.” And we came home with a Lunatic.
She was originally named Courtney, which is a lovely name I’m sure but the wrong name entirely, and I’m not sure I can trust the people at the shelter any more, with that kind of willy-nilly bad judgment going on. I saw Rod’s face light up when he saw her—she looks like a lab mix, with the long nose and floppy ears, and he’s always wanted a lab mix. A dog-looking dog, if you know what I mean. My heart screamed FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE NO, because I’ve lived with labs. I know labs. Labs—they are the coked-up meth heads of the dog world.
They said, “She’s ten months old!” and I ran away and hid. But she was chill. She was so sweet and so friendly. She was so deeply, deeply invested in loving us with all the love she had in her heart. She seemed to really like Crommy, and Crom seemed indifferent in a positive sort of way. So Rod went and filled out the adoption papers and we were calling her Bella for awhile, but then Rod realized that people would find out he was a Twilight fan so we cast around for other ideas.
“Luna!” he screamed up the stairs later that night.
“What?” I screamed back, because we are classy.
“Her name is Luna!” he shouted. And I agreed that it was.
She is ridiculously smart. We taught her how to go through the dog door by holding out a treat to come get. Five minutes later she was jumping back and forth through the door, because clearly that was the path to ALL THE TREATS. (Crom, in the meantime, hates the dog door because it gets in his face and he is a precious princess who doesn’t approve of being touched.)
She is hilarious, eager to please, happy, snuggly, sweet, and a bundle of manic energy that makes me want to lock myself in the bathroom after a few hours of it. She and Crom spend most of their time stealing toys from one another and taking turns playing Chase Me, Chase Me. This morning they spent an hour wrestling on and around me and I threw them out of the house—by which I mean paid nice people to take them hiking for three hours because white people problems. They ran in circles for three hours and I got lots of work done. They came home and jumped on the couch and started wrestling in my lap. It is way less fun than you imagine.
Now they’re both snoring, Luna with her face tucked into the crook of my knee and her arm around her stuffed animal, Crommy with his nose in my elbow, and I am as exhausted as they finally are and I think we are all pretty happy.