Zoe Dawg

The boss in our home is not me. It's not C. It's Zoe.

"I said, that's right!"

Pretty much most executive decisions are determined by the presence of this dog. How late will we go out? Do we really need to run this errand, unless we can bring her along? What's for dinner tonight, and how much of it can we give to Zoe?

Discussing our forthcoming move, one of the key factors was - there has to be a place somewhere for her to run her little heart out and roll around in the scat left behind by other dogs. It's nasty, I know, but we like to indulge her primal instincts and pay through the nose for the cost of New York City dog grooming.

Another $65 right down the drain

Obviously we've been reduced to big balls of human mush, because it's considered a privilege to rub her belly. Therefore, we must move over to her in order to do so, because she cannot be bothered to come to us. Often, during discussions, we look to her and ask her out loud, "What do you think, Zoe?", as if we were to get an answer. Most of the time, she gives us that imperious look, as if to say: "What are you, stupid? I'm a dog!"

I write about this, because I realized this morning that we're coming upon her second year of being with us, mostly with just me before we got married. And it's like, Wait. This dog has only been a part of our lives for nearly two years? What was life like before Zoe? I think the couch used to be mine, before she took it over and destroyed it. I don't remember. If I met C before bringing her home, I don't remember that either.

Everything started with Zoe.

Me: Hon, when did we meet?

C: Um. (scratching head) You brought home the dog...

Thing is, in my family we're all dog lovers, some more than others. My brother has a history of bringing home dogs from the shelter, only to have them become permanent residents of Hotel Mom and Dad. So when I brought Zoe home, my dad was more than skeptical. Now, any discussion regarding any forthcoming life events (i.e. marriage, moving, changing jobs, etc.), he is convinced that it's a portent of Zoe being offloaded onto him and my mother. So his refrain has become "We're not taking her".

Me: Dad, we're getting married!

Dad: Congratulations. We're not taking her.

Fine, I wouldn't want him anyway!

There are protocols surrounding her occupation of the apartment. This is not based on the conditioning of the dog to our behavior, but vice versa. Going back to issue of The Bed, a peaceable treaty has been worked out that she sleeps in C's spot, until he comes home from work at night. Actually, that was non-negotiable from the beginning.

Another rule necessitates the shutdown of cell phones when no one is home. Many a day has terror struck my heart, as I realize I had left my cell phone on at home. Then I run a marathon of epic proportions back home, praying no one calls or texts me. The dog is deathly afraid of the beeping associated with messages left and I usually come home to find this:

Okay, it's cute that she likes to hide in the bath. But it's not so cute when it's accompanied by an accident. First on her couch, then on her bathmat (see a trend here?), in her race to get into the safety of the tub.

At the end of the day, in spite of her stank and sometimes unusual behaviors, my father can rest assured that she is very much a member of the little tribe we have going on. He will never, ever have to take her.