Sometimes I Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me

I’ve heard mothers of small children complain over the years that they never have time for themselves, never have a moment alone. There is always a nose to be wiped, a scratch to be kissed, a game to be played, a dinner to be negotiated. Mothers of older children are no different what with soccer practice or band rehearsal to get to, shuttling kids here there and everywhere. No time for themselves. No time to just sit and relax and take time for them.

I’m here to tell you, having a dog (or two) is no different. For eleven years I have had two shadows…mine and the one belonging to Snickers. There is not one thing I do in the course of my day that he isn’t there to supervise. Not that I’m complaining, but really, how would you feel if you were being watched? All. The. Time.?

I wake up in the morning and there he is, sitting in my doorway, staring at me, willing me to open my eyes because that’s his signal to jump on the bed for his morning rub. I (read “we”) head downstairs to the bathroom and despite a closed door, there’s his nose poking through just to make sure I don’t need anything. Extra roll of toilet paper? Out of toothpaste? I’m here! I can help! I’m your buddy, you can count on me!

Throughout the day we dance around each other. Occasionally, we get stuck. Usually by the garbage cans, with him ever hopeful I’ve got something for him and me, just wanting to get to the can. His constant surveillance really isn’t a problem, until we’re in the kitchen. Then, he’s so worried that a scrap or a crumb may fall in his path he is on my heels so closely that if I stop short, his nose is impaled in my fanny. I do not joke.

All day. Every day. Except of course on those days when I bring out the monster, the dreaded vacuum cleaner and then, then this dog who does not leave my side for a moment? Then, he’s a basket case and can’t get away from me fast enough. Heaven forbid the sucking monster might come near him and suck him into its vortex. So, when I vacuum, instead of walking on my heels he firmly tucks his tail between his legs and cowers in the corner, upstairs (if I’m downstairs), downstairs (if I’m upstairs), under the table, on top of the sofa. He’d even try under the bed if only he’d fit. 

Even as I sit here at the kitchen counter typing this entry, here he sits. Staring. I know someday when he’s gone I will miss this constant monitoring, but honestly, it would be nice if when I leave the room to plug in my laptop, it would be nice if he just stayed here in the kitchen secure in the fact that I’ll return. Unfortunately, that’s just not his style.