Lapdog

Two weeks ago, my family got a dog from the Seattle Humane Society.  It was a spontaneous purchase after two years of deliberation.  We got a Chihuahua Pomeranian mix, an eight pound lapdog.

I never thought I was a lapdog person.  According to one of the eight books on dogs I got from the library, lapdogs were bred to befriend the wealthy, people who had time to sit.  When I think of lapdogs, my first thought is of the fur balls sitting with dowagers on Downton Abbey while the servants bustle around.  I bristle at the thought of being idle.  When I talk on the phone at home, I am usually multi-tasking -- loading the dishes, folding laundry, making tea, sorting and stacking books or paperwork.  I didn't realize how much I move around until I got the lapdog and had to sit still.  The last thing I thought I needed was a dog who inspired inactivity.

My initial thought was "What a massive waste of time, sitting with a dog on my lap.  I could be doing a thousand other things."  Writing on the computer or balancing the checkbook is difficult with a dog on my lap.  I ended up hunched over the computer in a weird way that caused my back to ache.  I tried reading a book while Fox was on my lap, but it was awkward.  Magazines are fine, but I usually finish what I want to read before the dog is ready to get up.

Tonight, I came home from a meeting where the group hashed through a budget.  Budget conversations are always challenging -- someone wants to fund y, someone else wants to cut x.  The kids were in bed, and the dog was bouncy.  Lap time makes Fox sleepy, so I figured I'd help chill him out.   Instead of trying to read or do something else, I just sat.  Sat.  I did nothing except ponder the day and wonder about things.  I thought about a friend who lost a pregnancy, and wondered about a restaurant I used to frequent in Chicago when I was pregnant the first time.  Cafe Equinox on Lincoln and Belden.  I remembered their salads and going there pregnant and happy before I lost my own child.  I thought about our neighbor boy who when he met Fox for the first time today insisted Fox was a Golden Retriever puppy.  I laughed and thought what a surprise we would have if he were right--no more lapdog.  The little boy reminded me of me when I was eight, when I formed the world to what I knew.  I watched Fox breathe as I rubbed his back.  This was just as relaxing as a glass of red wine, minus the hangover.