Flit's Best of the Best for Tuesday Writing Essentials

 First published on Gather last September, I'm partial to this piece, and it has recently been accepted for publication in an anthology about dogs to be published late in 2008. Of course I own the rights, so am still free to publish it as I see fit.....for flit!!

This was written in September of 1990, when "The Best baby Dog" came to live with us.

"Can we please get a puppy?"

I'd been asked this question many times by my three younger children.

"No," I replied each time. "Daddy and I are allergic. They cost too much money. They require lots and lots of time and energy-not to mention attention!"

It wasn't a lie. It wasn't even the teensiest bit of a stretching of my imagination. We are in fact allergic to dogs. And cats. And horses. And dust.

"You're allergic to dust, and we still have dust," they would argue.

"You pay attention to us-we require a lot of attention."

Yes, raising a large family did require lots of time and attention-and of course money.

Did they have a valid point? We never did implement the numerous suggestions the allergist prescribed. We never purchased dust jackets or tore up carpets or installed a special filter on our furnace. We did manage to attend after-school activities, piano lessons, and the scary sounds of the Fifth-GradeAllCityBand. We all got up for church on Sunday-most weeks we even arrived fully dressed and were seated in our pew before the sermon.

No, that certainly did not validate their point.

And then Scott moved home. Scott, the oldest of our five children, had lived 1500 miles away from home for the past sixteen months. Apparently tiring of starvation, eviction, incarceration, and many other "tions", he packed up his '94 Tacomawith all his worldly goods, including his D-O-G, and headed north.

They arrived at 1:00on a Friday morning. I awoke to the sound of toenails on my kitchen floor. Certain that my husband had clipped his this fiscal quarter, I assumed the toenail noise signaled the return. I greeted both with a fervor reserved only for offspring and spouses following lengthy absences.

And now we have a dog. Philly has made himself right at home. He's great with the kids, he's not had a single accident on the floor, and he stays out of the bedrooms and living room. Okay, well he used to. Now he sleeps right smack in the middle of our bed. Yes, I share a queen-sized bed with a 250-pound husband and a sweet baby dog. (Did I call him that?)

He'll undoubtedly help to fuel my exercise and foster my reprieves from the computer. And he's as gentle a dog as I've ever known. Now don't just naturally assume I've fallen for him because that's not the case. I just think he's nice and, after all, isn't he sort of like a grand-dog or something?

Its called tolerance isn't it? I tolerate him because he's a guest in my house. Oh yes, I failed to mention my son's stay is temporary. He'll be looking for an apartment soon.

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Fast-forward a few months. Rents are awfully high in our area. And not too many allow pets. Hmmm. Scott finally found an apartment that didn't allow dogs. I guess that means Philly stays with us-just for a little while longer.

That's okay. I mean, at least while he's here he'll enjoy the toys and the dog bed. And he'll get to use the runner in the back yard. And he'll wear that adorable knit doggie coat when the weather gets a little cooler. No, I'm definitely not attached. Those things were all on sale. Except for his doghouse. That was almost $200. But I'd had a very lucrative week at work, hadn't I?

Last week was lucrative, too. In fact it was so lucrative I booked all of Philly's aromatherapy baths for the coming year-complete with a plaid bow for his collar upon his final brushing.

I may not be psychic-but I know what you're thinking. And you're dead wrong.

I am NOT attached to this dog!