It's Friday, I'm in Love

Dear Claire,

You are, in spite of being totally neurotic and possibly part dingo, the best dog in the world. We've had probably the most continuously successfully relationship these past seven years that I've ever had. Yeah, you eat your own puke, but you're also eternally excited to see me when I return from a trip to the grocery store (to buy diet coke and stupid girl magazines, most likely) or from being away for an entire semester. Much to my relief, you have aged beautifully and healthily. This was confirmed by the vet a few weeks ago - the best teeth she's seen in years! That's my girl. You whimper and squeal with excitement like a puppy even when I'm just putting my socks on, in anticipation of a walk. Your enthusiasm is simultaneously annoying, ear drum busting and totally endearing. You seek me out during thunderstorms or when someone's vacuuming because I assume you're scared, which is weird, but I like it. You have bat ears. You are them most aesthetically pleasing mutt I've yet to encounter. You have horrible manners. You refuse to eat vegetables or grains unless they're doused in butter or cheese. You could be a professional watch dog. For better or worse, our evening walks are often the highlight of my day. You have a white diamond shaped patch of fur right in the center of your forehead. You always wedge yourself between me and whoever might be on my bed (mostly Lacey, and we're watching Project Runway or A Shot at Love with Tila Tecrappo). I will be forever grateful that I summoned some figurative balls and lied to my parents about finding you on the side of the road in Noble, Oklahoma (we both know I really picked you out from a pile of wriggling puppies caked in red dirt at a farm with a Jolly Green Giant Statue on the front lawn) when I brought you home as an eight week old puppy New Years Day 2000. Your head is laying on my knee right at this moment. I can feel you breathing through my jeans. You melt my heart on a daily basis. It might be silly, but I love you.