It Must Be LOVE

Fergus and I have been together for 11 years. I brought him home when he was 6-weeks old. He was a wrinkly, fuzzy. Fergus is my pug. He was cute and well-behaved at first. Soon, he began to demonstrate a certain “seek and destroy” talent.

My cookbooks were his first target. He teethed through them like a swarm of termites. I still chuckle when I use the Williams-Sonoma series.

The next assault required a mop. One afternoon, I noticed Ferg was being unusually quiet. I called to him and he snorted his way to me. I looked down and did a double take. His muzzle was bright lilac and there was a trail of lilac paw prints trailing through the kitchen. I had a basket of acrylic paint tubes underneath my desk to which he'd helped himself. Thankfully, acrylics are non-toxic and water-soluble. It was no easy feat cleaning the paint out of his muzzle wrinkles.

Thinking I could leave him unattended for 30 minutes, I went out for groceries. I made sure nothing was lying on the floor he could damage. When I returned, everything seemed to be intact. Fergus was lying angelically on his bed grooming his squeaky Caveman Fred toy. I curled up on the sofa with him anticipating a leisurely evening.

As I reached for the remote control, I noticed a series of needle-like perforations along the edges of my walnut coffee table. Upon closer inspection, I determined they were teeth marks. Fergus’ way of saying, “I was here. Where were you?”

I was working on a research paper a few days later. Fergus kept interrupting. He wanted my undivided attention and tried to get it by sitting on the laptop keyboard. I gave him a stern “no” and placed him on the floor. He gave me a woeful look and went off in search of Fred.

Ten minutes later, I heard a sporadic buzzing noise and little growls. The noises were coming from behind the couch. Sure enough, Fergus was gnawing on the computer cord, receiving a mild series of electric shocks. That one cost $250.

Living with a dog changed my life in unexpected ways. Because of Fergus’ puppyhood, I still don't wear lace-up shoes and rarely wear pants. The Ferg quickly deduced that tying shoes meant I was leaving the house and him. He pulled on the lace ends as I tied my shoes. Pants? He pulled on the bottom of the legs, sometimes hanging off them as I tried to get dressed.

Friends suggested obedience training. I was certain Fergus would mellow with age. After a year and a half, I signed him up for obedience classes. I found a boarder/trainer in the country and left for a 2 week holiday.

Trainer assured me I'd return to a new and improved Fergus. I called a few days before I returned. The trainer sheepishly asked if she could keep him an extra week (at no extra cost) as he'd been “resistant” to training. Fergus went through three rounds of obedience training in all. It never really took. We have an “arrangement;” I issue commands and, if he feels like it, he listens.

Trainer said I needed to establish myself as the “alpha dog.” She demonstrated a restraint technique. I had friends over that summer and asked them to enter without ringing the bell as it launched Ferg into a barking fit. He began acting out as I tried to finish party preparations, insistently barking for food and nipping at my ankles.

Losing my patience, I dropped onto my hands and knees, laid him on his side in the restraint position, shouting, “I am the alpha dog! I am the alpha dog!” Just then, six of my guests arrived. It took a long time to live that one down.

I have had many other embarrassing, “I can’t believe my dog just did that to me” moments. He locked me out of my apartment one cold Sunday night in Boston in a pair of boxers, tee shirt, a bag of Indian delivery and nothing else. He locked me out of my running car in a black top parking lot one 95’ summer's day (damned power locks). Not to worry, the air conditioner was running in the car, I, on the other hand, nearly dehydrated waiting for the locksmith to arrive.

Fergus has given me a black eye (got too close to his flailing hind legs whilst play wresting), went to the bathroom in my gym bag (in retaliation for the diet dog food Veterinarian made me give him), and numerous other affronts. Most recently, I invited friends to Christmas dinner. Afterward, we retired to the lounge to exchange gifts and drink cider. I soon heard Fergus in the kitchen trying to knock the trash over to get the turkey bones. I told Fergus “NO,” placed the bin outside and returned to my friends with Fergus in tow.

I assumed that was the end of it. Shortly thereafter, I felt something warm and wet on my foot. I looked down and saw Fergus staring up at me defiantly, hind leg raised. That’s right. My dog pissed on me in front of my guests. It took even LONGER to live that one down.
In spite of the snoring, snot blowing, "accidents," stubborn streak, flatulence, old dog breath, and willfulness, Fergus is the best roommate/companion I've ever had and I wouldn't trade a single moment of our time together for the most well behaved lapdog, man or beast. It must be love.