Not during what should be a season of gift giving.
Oh, sure, every wife is shocked and says her man would be the last to love another girl.
I can say it with fortitude.
Not my husband. Not this girl.
But it has happened.
I’ve caught him. It appears husband has fallen for my dog.
Yes, this husband who swore he never wanted a pet.
This husband who couldn’t wrap his head around the idea he had fallen in love with me, the animal wacko.
This husband who confessed he would’ve proposed six months earlier if not for all my animals.
This husband who took me to pre-marital counseling to figure out how he, the pets and I were going to all live together.
Yeah, that guy.
Here we are 4 1/2 years later.
The signs have been around.
The way he stayed in the den watching football games he didn’t care about, watching Darla sleep on her bed.
Telling me not to hire the dog walker when I traveled out of town.
He now had it covered.
The conversations I overheard from the other room between Husband and Darla Dog.
Well, Husband talking. Deaf Darla patiently pretending to listen.
Now there is no ignoring what has happened.
Husband has fallen hard for this 16 1/2 year old lab mutt.
You, too, who has loved an old dog knows how it is.
Each day wondering if this is the day.
Her last day.
I’ve asked my long-time dog sitter to come over a few times in recent weeks to assess and be honest with us.
She started with: “She’s doing fine, but it could be soon”
On Thanksgiving Day that changed to: “It’s time,” she said bluntly. “I don’t think this is a good quality of life.”
That’s what pulled the covers back on this love affair.
“Debra doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” husband protested. “Darla is the Christmas Miracle. She has another Christmas in her, maybe New Year’s, too.”
“I thought you’d have the car running ready to end this chapter,” I said.
He ignored me.
Instead instantly coming up with his own checklist.
“She’s not in pain, she knows Mama, she has a huge appetite and she can walk. As soon as one as those goes, then we’ll talk.”
I checked back with Debra who pointed out Darla’s walk is more like a drunk sailor stumble.
“How can you explain that you’re not ready to let her go?” I asked Husband.
“It’s not me that’s ready,” he insisted. “She’s not ready.”
Alrighty, then.
I am able to accept that we’re close.
That I expected.
Just like I knew to never expect Husband would change.
You don’t get married expecting your man will change.
Not this late in life.
But that my dog could, would melt her way into Husband’s heart?
That’s a miracle, indeed.
The gift. The one last final gift from one fine dog.
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