A New Companion

I have a new companion in my life. He’s shorter than the males that I’m usually attracted to, and is very hairy. His hair defies the laws of nature. It is long, and white, and clings to everything in my apartment. Some people might refer to his hair as fur, but I think that he’s already sensitive enough about the issue.

His name is Rex, and he is a byproduct of another companion who has entered my life. Ironically, Rex and I often spend more time together than either of us spend with his human. This is a situation that we first questioned, but now have learned to enjoy. We have routines, the two of us; a special pat at the top of the staircase that signifies “job well done out there in the backyard,” a claimed resting spot at my feet when I work, an ongoing conversation regarding the status of the apartment. I have many other pets (five, to be precise) but Rex has held his own. He’s found his place in this new world.

There are qualities about Rex that amuse me, and qualities that frustrate me. Most important of all, there are qualities that I admire. As dogs go, Rex ranks fairly low on the independence scale. He is insecure, seeks constant reassurance, and follows closely at my heels at all times – even at the most inconvenient of times. His proximity to my feet have resulted in many near-calamities, and he has perfected the look of dejection that he utilizes – heavily – when I finally insist that he find himself a resting place away from my legs. Yet, even as I am frustrated and annoyed with his behavior, I learn something from it. Rex wants attention. He never attempts to hide that desire, never disguises it, and will, regardless of previous rejections, always continue to seek it. As someone who often has trouble asking for what I want, and instead tend to defer to the desires of those I care about, (which leads to the nasty side-effect of resentment) I could learn something from Rex.

Certainly, as humans, we don’t have the right to be as selfish as dogs are. It would be inappropriate for me to be as all-consumed with my own desires as Rex is with his. Still, watching him, I realize that it’s okay to want what I want, and to express it – as long as the timing is appropriate. I, for one, will never park myself in front of someone who is seated on the toilet, suggesting that they give me immediate attention. A human has to have standards.

Rex spends a considerable amount of time taking care of one of the true loves of his life - his stuffed squeaky hedgehog. Rex’s current hedgehog is merely the latest in a long line of stuffed squeaky hedgehogs, but he loves it with the ardor of a first love. The toy sleeps with him, and is carried with him to any location at which he intends to spend a significant amount of time. Often not content with mere close proximity to the loved one, Rex bestows hours of careful licks and gentle gnawing upon it, positioning it just so between his small white paws. Many times, I’ve caught Rex with his eyelids heavy, half asleep, his mouth still wrapped around the fuzzy body of the hedgehog. He is not ashamed of this love. On the contrary, he’ll occasionally bring the hedgehog out for the express purpose of parading it about in his mouth, tail held high behind him - a white plume of triumph declaring his success in love. This dedicated, somewhat senseless love is touching. For him to adore so truly, to take such care and time for something that gives him nothing but an agreeable, quiet companionship in return, inspires me to think about the ways in which I utilize my own time and energies. Sometimes, when I find myself frustrated by the demands of my pets, work, friends, or family, I think of Rex, and the hours of care that he bestows upon the hedgehog. In those moments, envisioning my co-worker as a fuzzy squeaky cucumber really can make things better.