A Dog - A Girl's Best Friend

"Puppies are nature's remedy for feeling lonely and unloved; plus numerous other ailments of life." -Richard Allan Palm

I admit I have always been super jealous of the girls on campus that walked their Chocolate Lab or Golden Retriever. The girls that seemed so much happier than I was despite our shared social status or our shared interest in our field of study. I was hell-bent and determined that it was because they had a dog. Even the fru-fru dogs with little girly bows in their hair had to of made some bit of difference in their emotional self-worth. I was convinced that if I had a dog I would never need a guy to take me to dinner on a lonely Tuesday night or to buy me a beer at the bar on Friday night while an ex-boyfriend looked on, giving me an ego-boost of making the loser jealous of me and Mr. Beer Buyer.

I was jealous of my sister to the most extreme measure when I bought her a boxer puppy in May 2007 as her gift for her Samford University graduation. Maybelle - whom I call "Sissy" made me - whom she calls "Aunt Sissy", just as happy as she did my sister. I would drive the 52-miles to my sister's house to hang out with my two favorite people, (yes, people) Ashley and Maybelle. Add in 85 more lbs. of an unconditional lovin', slobbery, clumsy mess of a dog named Beau and it had to result in part of my sister's happiness. Yeah, yeah, and her long-term relationship sealed complete with May 2008 nuptials. But, that's not my point. My point was, I was trying to convince the parentals that I needed a dog.

Oh, I wanted so badly to be that girl on campus. The one that walked her large-breed dog to the quad, took it to happy-hour pretending like she wasn't using it to get some fraternity boy's attention but no one cared because it was working so you couldn't blame her, and the one who had more than a pillow to snuggle up to every night while watching Lifetime movies. I needed to be her; not just wanted.

My close, hard to describe, relationship with Maybelle planted the seed for executing my plan to get this Boxer puppy that I so badly needed and wanted. I had even convinced myself that I would be happy with a mixed-breed (the politically correct word usage for "mutt") or a small dog (I was lying to myself about that, however). My father, the head of a household full of women, doesn't look like the "softy" type. Boy - he has you fooled. When it comes to Boxer puppies and Daddy's little girls, you can't get much softer than "Big Butch".

I don't know if it was the gas expenses that had been charged to the American Express by running back and forth to Trussville to visit Ashley, Tyler, 'BoBo Head' and Maybelle, or if it was my expression of guilt I initially felt as the reality of not being a four-year graduate set in. Maybe it was a little bit of both, combined with my sister's concern that a dog would be good for me and her experience of how miserable it is to grow up with dogs then being so far away at school without one and how she couldn't imagine being at a big school like Alabama without a dog to come home too. She knew the misery without even knowing how badly I wanted to be in the 'dog-walker's club' on the quad.

Finally, my prayers were answered and Daddy called to say an early birthday/Christmas/graduation gift would be a Boxer puppy and to start researching breeders in the area. Four days later, four cities, and four-hundred miles of state-wide treking with my sister riding shot-gun, I had all four lbs. of Mildred Jean Jones all to myself.

I became "Mommy" to Millie on June 18, 2009. It's astonishing what all you can learn from a dog and what all you can learn about yourself when you have something constant in your life that loves you unconditionally, when you can't be with Mom and Daddy or with your security blanket of home-town friends. I felt a little guilty that Maybelle would be mad at me or Lola and Jackson, back at home, wouldn't understand and think that I had replaced them, but my fawn and black fire-ball couldn't be denied as the reason I came to terms with my self, watched my face in the mirror have more emotion than it had in four-years, and show me that I don't need a boyfriend, a degree and career, or a perfect GPA, right now in my life. All I needed was a never-ending supply of Boxer kisses and a membership into the "little girl with a large-breed dog" club.

As a Child Development and Early Childhood Education major, I am aware that some children, usually those with developmental disorders, don't learn 'potty-training' until five, six, even seven years old. I have worked in research labs at the university alongside mother's who have thirteen-year old children with disabilities that still change diapers, pull-ups, and bed sheets because of the child's inability to grasp the mind-body mastery of toileting. So, keeping that in mind, I went into my first "Mommy" experience with an open-mind and a respect for the mothers who do this day in and day out without a complaint, ever-loving their child who is nothing short of perfect to them. My patience is often times tested to the max, and I know it's by the hand of the good Lord above, and this time was no difference. My mother laughed at the thought of "payback" for all the hell I put her through, every time I called to vent about Millie's excitement at the expense of making Mommy look like an idiot to the neighbors. But, I was pleased with my newfound level of patience that Millie Jean has taught me so far. Because no matter how many piles of poop I may pick up, or how many puddles of urine I have to scrub, I know that I'd rather do it 3x as much than to go another day without the smile that she puts on my face. I'd rather do it 4x as much than to have never gained the respect and admiration for the mothers, care-givers, and special needs educators that do the same thing without complaining so to better the life and experiences of a child with a disability.

The presence of 'precious angel face' (one of her many nicknames) in my life has also opened doors for other learning experiences. It's a lot easier to stay at home, sit down, study, and stay focused when a smudgy-faced bundle of joy is layed up on your leg, falling asleep to the sound of the keys on your laptop, and knowing that reading Theoretical Abnormal Psychology is much more fun at that moment than being out on the town, pretending everything is okay, and trying to hide that jealous eye that keeps finding its way back to staring at the annoyingly happy girl with the dog leash in her hand and wishing you could be her.

Now, I am her. Millie and I walk at least three times a week - usually more - on a long, 2 mile route around campus. We walk by Rounders and pop in to say hello to our friends and the the 'happy hour' crowd. We walk by the Phi Gamma Delta house and don't stop to make small talk just for the slightest hope that Ruby, an ex-boyfriend's Golden Retriever that Mommy practically raised and developed a deep bond with, might run up to say hello because there's no need for that anymore. We walk by Bryant-Denny Stadium and sometimes up to the giant, iron sculptures of National Championship coaches from Alabama while Mommy crosses her fingers that Millie doesn't mark her spot on Gene Stallings or Paul W. Bryant. We walk to the quad. underneath the Oak trees and beside the Dogwood trees. We walk down sorority row and Mommy is happier than she ever has been and it's almost like Millie understands the feelings of relief, happiness, and gratefulness that comes from the relationship the two of us share. We walk by Calvary Baptist Church, where we stop at the main intersection and people gawk at just how beautiful the two of us are (haha!). We go by Rama Jama's and if Millie's been really good and Mommy is hungry, we share a chili dog and watch the other dog-walkers walk by and we smile at how jealous the other dogs are and guess whether it's the chili dog or our looks that make them drool (okay, I'll stop!). And, sometimes we go to the park or we go play with some of our friends like Millie (she's the best friend, same age, same name) and Monroe (she's a Tar Heel fan, too!) and Kabbie's Cocka-Poos named Zoey and Josephine (even though Millie scares them a little bit because she doesn't understand why their so small and don't want to box back at her).

We still charge the ole' AmEx and go to Trussville to see Aunt Pash and Uncle Tyball and cousins Maybelle and BoBo Head. We get us a good dinner, play some, then head back to T-Town where the young kids live when the old married couple gets sick of us.

Luckily, as different as Ashley and I are, our love for Boxers is the same, and dogs in general, and she is always helpful with Millie if I go out of town. With my sister and I's life becoming more and more different because she is settled, married, and a hard-working career woman and I am single, wild at heart, and still enjoying my 'collegehood', having the role as "Mommy" to beautiful Boxer babies gives us something in common and a reason to put seeing each other into our busy schedules. Not to mention seeing my sister root for me to get a puppy, her supplying us with toys, a crate, puppy food, treats, and Southern hospitality, and proving that she'll be the best Aunt in the world to my children like she's been the best sister in the world to me, I can give Millie's cute little butt some of the credit for bringing Ashley and I even closer together.

However; don't let me fool you that Millie is all sugar and spice and everything nice. She's a wild, bratty, bed hog who won't share the covers. She needs attention 100% of the times or she will try to chew up your BlackBerry, pee on your laptop cord, or neatly place her digested "lunch" on your pile of textbooks - whatever it is that is occupying your attention. She waits until the sheets have been washed that morning to pee on them for the first time in two weeks. She never runs off when going outside to do her business, unless the 'hottie from Nashville neighbor' is outside or it's a terential downpour of rain. She waits until the first time she goes outside since she was bathed before she runs to jump in the wet, red clay from the construction next door. She rips to shreds Mommy's exam notes two days before the test. She rips open her food bag and crawls inside of it instead of notifying Mommy in some normal, dog way that she's hungry and needs food. She forces you to drag her, while flailing and making you believe she'll break her own rib just to teach you a lesson, if you walk her on anything other than an extenda-leash. She digs - sand, dirt, clay, carpet, tile, hardwoods, mud, concrete, bedspread, chair, pile of dirty clothes, anything.

But of all those things mentioned above, I wouldn't trade Millie for the world. I could never imagine life without her ever again, nor could I imagine what it must be like to have never experienced the horror and love of having a puppy. I can't imagine how miraculous it must be like to carry an infant for 9-months, growing inside of you, and being 'Mommy' to a precious child which you've made, if having a puppy for three months has been so forever life-changing. I don't know nor can comprehend the unconditional love that my mother must have for me, despite driving her nearly bat-shit crazy probably for 22-years, if I love this 20 lb. sassy-pants of a dog like I do. I can't wait to feels the way it must feel when you pick your child up from preschool and they run to you with open-arms, a wide grin, yelling 'Mommy! Mommy!' considering the feeling is so, so good when I come home from an hour long lecture to open the crate to a 4 month old Boxer puppy as she wiggles her tail and entire body in excitement for my return.

I guess it does deem true that a dog is a man's best friend. Millie may not be able to talk back to me, but she does everything else. We walk together, she listens to me, we nap together when we're exhausted, we eat meals together, she hangs out with my crowd of friends, we think the same boys are cute and give the same bitchy look to the boys we don't like, we root for the Tar Heels and Crimson Tide and never argue about sports, we play ball at the park, she helps me with my homework, she likes my music, clothes, and movies, and she always knows when to cuddle extra close when I'm having a bad day. We go on road trips and love the mountains and the beach. She's the best at being my friend and she's the perfect little guardian angel that fills my life with unconditional love - a perfect gift from Mom and Daddy - the ones who taught me what unconditional love is.

I hope everyone's life is blessed - each day - in one way or another - the way my little, precious Mildred Jean Jones blesses mine!

Peace&Love

-bjj 'the other sister'