Modern Love

Beanie. Beanie Baby. Beanie Butt. String Beans. Boston Baked Beans. Beans McQueens. Beans, my dog. 

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He's a 19-pound brown and white Boston Terrier with long legs and a two inch tail  that's always wagging. He has large ears that stick straight up until around 7 p.m. each night when he’s tired, at which point, they flop over. He resembles a miniature version of a Boxer with his boxy face and short snout. Although he makes life harder most of the time, he has become one of my best friends, because somehow he also makes life better at the same time.

Growing up in Florida, my family has always had dogs. Over the years, we had a Great Pyrenees, an Irish Terrier and a Blue Lacy. They were all outdoor dogs and spent their days exploring and chasing squirrels. When anyone would go outside, they would tear out across the yard and travel in a big loop around the perimeter inspecting everything for safety. 

Though I had these dogs while I was growing up, somehow I didn’t realize the amount of responsibility that came with owning a dog. This was most likely because I'm from a family of eight and the dog never had a lack of attention. When it came to feeding, I'm pretty sure my mom kept track of that, and when the tough calls needed to be made, my dad handled that. When we went out of town, a neighbor would check up on the dog every once in a while. Overall, they were pretty easy for me, and my thoughts of taking care of them reflected that. 

Once I left home, I was dog free for twelve years. It wasnt that I didn't want a dog, I didn't have the time nor a place for a dog. During my college years, I'd visit home during the summers. At some point though, I just became a guest in the house, and the dogs were my mom’s. I’ve only had to take care of myself. After college, I joined the Army and was gone often. When I wasn't working, I slept in. When I hung out with friends and couldn't drive home, I slept on their couch. I had no responsibility at home. 

Once I watched a friend's dog for a week while they were out of town, and it turned out a lot more tedious than I remembered from living at home. This dog was a 100 pound white Husky that lived in an apartment. It wasn't just food that this dog needed -- it needed attention or it destroyed the entire apartment. I couldn't just swing by once a day to check on him and feed him. I had to live with him in their home for a week. There was no sleeping in or staying away for too long. I planned my days around taking care of this dog.

After that, I had no intention of getting a dog. Even when I went to the pet store with my girlfriend to just ‘look’ at the puppies. Her pug had recently died. During a lunch break we visited a local pet store to buy a birthday gift for her other dog, and we stopped to look at the puppies. That was the plan, just to look. However, we found ourselves in a little room with two puppies, a female French Bulldog and a male Boston Terrier. With their tiny little paws and squeaky barks, they were the cutest little babies I had ever seen. The Frenchie curled up on my girlfriend’s lap, and the Boston playfully attacked me. When I pushed him away, he’d slide across the floor then bound back at me on his wobbly little legs, then he’d nibble on my fingers with his tiny teeth that were barely visible. We were filled with the idea that they needed to be ‘rescued’ by us from the pet store.

When we went back to work for the afternoon, no actual work was done. Instead, we researched and debated over getting the puppies. We decided to leave the decision up to fate, we flipped a coin. The best two out of three were decided for us. Heads to get the dogs. Tails not to. It landed on heads all three times. It was destiny, so my girlfriend says.

We went back to the pet store after work to rescue our new babies. I was getting the boy puppy. I immediately named him “Beans McQueens.” As we were getting everything we needed to check out and bring them home, it was dinner time for the puppies. As the other dogs sat quietly in their cages waiting to be fed, the Boston that I picked out barked wildly in excitement all the way up until he couldn't because there was food in his mouth. Looking back, I should have seen that as the first sign that I was in for a big life change. Even to this day -- two years later -- Beans barks wildly in excitement for his food.  

The first few months were rough. I constantly stopped everything I was doing to take care of my puppy. There were multiple vet trips, and pee pads littered across the floor. There were the occasional times he got diarrhea from eating who knows what, and we stayed up late at night cleaning the carpet, changing bed sheets or taking him outside. We brought the puppies home during the cold months of the year. I'd never had to be outside in the cold in a rush like I have with a puppy. There have been nights during the winter that I’ve woken up from a deep sleep to run outside in my underwear in the cold holding a puppy with diarrhea. I caught a head cold during the first winter he lived with us.

I still don't get a lot of sleep since he sleeps with us, along with our other dogs. He likes to sleep against one of us. When I roll over, he moves over too. There's no returning to my previous position because he’s there. Some nights, I move to the guest bed that's Beans-free. Even with less sleep there's something wonderful about having him there buried in the blankets beside me with his droopy ears and his bottom pouty lip. 

During the day, he keeps a busy schedule, which usually starts with finding his favorite toy of the day, and relentlessly begging me to throw for him to catch. As early as 6:30 a.m., he starts barking for  his ball to be thrown. What's worse is that he hasn't learned to bring it back to me, so I have to get out of bed, take the ball, throw it, then get back in bed. Within seconds, he's ready to chase it again. Most of the day he keeps his ball near. It's his most valuable possession, and he wants it every time he gets excited. Whether it's for food, where he sets it right beside his bowl when he eats, or if we’re gonna go on a walk, he has to get his ball before I can put his collar on. When it rolls under the couch, he sadly whines with the most pitiful look on his face until I slide the couch away from the wall so that he can get his ball. It's annoying, yet utterly endearing. 

In the twelve years that I didn't have a dog, I never imagined that I'd be doing some of the things I do now, like guard trash that raccoons have thrown everywhere so that Beans won’t eat it. Or that every morning I'd be outside telling a dog how proud I am that he's going to the bathroom. But I don't really mind it.

In the summer, I enjoyed watching him try to catch a bumble bee, but hated picking the pieces of worm out of his dog bed. I get a kick out of him rushing outside, barking his head off in hopes of getting some kind of response, but shut the windows when he's just barking at people passing by.

I think he considers himself tough though I might disagree. I don't consider barking at bugs tough. When it rains and there’s thunder, I'll find him curled up in the basement shaking, and I have to hold him until he calms down. He recently ripped one of his dew claws. I think that it's more painful for me than it was for him. Even though his nail was ripped and bleeding, leaving a little trail of red dots across the floor, he still just wanted to play. If it was up to him, he didn't need to go to the vet.

I don't sleep as well, I don't sleep in, I can't work for hours uninterrupted any more. He makes a ton of noise, but he's my buddy. He follows me around and hangs out with me in the bathroom. He watches TV with me, and we have deep conversations. He's a pretty good listener. He's changed my whole schedule and I'm ok with that.