Man’s Best Friend

I almost cried when I made my first sale.

It wasn’t the rush of the sale, the dollar bills I envisioned filling my bank account, or the fact of it being the first yes I heard in a bucket of no’s over the previous three days.

It was the dogs.

As usual, this is my wife’s fault.

Before I met my wife, I was so good at keeping feelings at arm's length. Then, she moved in with me and brought her dog along - a 10-year-old Basset Hound named George.

This was a super-sneaky move because her dog lived with her mom before she moved in with me. I didn't even know she had a dog when we started dating.

In fact, she openly told me she had two cats (a red flag that I ignored) who were “marking” her apartment regularly.

She lived two hours away at that time, and I let her know I would not be making that drive to visit her until those cats were gone or the problem was resolved.

Is that harsh, “Sex and the City” fans? I’m not sorry. A weekend trip to clean cat pee did not seem appealing then, or ever. This relationship had potential and deserved honesty. The kind of honesty which left me in a place not stinking of cat pee.

Fast forward a year and a few months and we are moving in together to a place where pets are not allowed.

“Can we go get George from Mama’s?”

“”There’s no pets allowed. It’s in the lease.”

“But, he’s so old. He’s going to die soon, and I haven’t lived with him in a year. He’s my dog. No one will ever notice. It’ll be fine.”

“He’s going to die soon?”

“Yes, he’s old and Bassets don’t live that long.”

This was a stretch of the truth by far. She railroaded me, knowing I would never take 30 seconds on my phone to investigate Basset Hound life spans.

George moved in and was spry. He ate hot dogs as his “treats.” He lived four more years.

Not only that, he became my best friend ever. We enjoyed road trips together. I spoke to him, literally. We had more conversations than the conversations I had with my friends.

Now that he’s gone, I lie awake at night and stare at pictures of George more often than I’d like to admit.

So, when Sally unlocked her gate to let me in her backyard, I let her know I would need to also see some things inside her home. She lightheartedly warned me she had 16 dogs. I was a little confused and thought I misheard her.

Then, she opened the door, and there were 16 senior citizen dogs - all Beagles and Bassets. Sally ran an elderly dog rescue from her home, which, somehow did not smell at all like 16 dogs lived there.

At least five of the 16 were Bassets. I immediately started petting dogs and letting Sally know all about George. I even tried to get a picture with one of them, but she was too skittish.

By the time Sally and I finished the paperwork, we had 16 dogs sleeping in a circle around us.