I love my dog . . .

. . . but he follows me. He follows me everywhere. The bathroom. My bedroom. To change the boys. To put the boys to sleep. Into the kitchen. Into the laundry room. Clothes in the dryer. Scrubs' nose right there.

The most frustrating? Changing my clothes. Drives me crazy when I change my clothes. I think he knows that this action results in something changing for him as well. Change into pajamas? Time to go to bed. Change into running clothes? Time to go outside. Change into out-and-about (as they say in Minnesota) clothes? Time to get ready for a great big treat as I climb into my kennel. He runs through my legs as I change my clothes. He sticks his nose into my shorts when I try to put them on. His teeth nip at the tip of my socks as I attempt to pull them on. I've tried putting him a down stay across the room or outside the door. Crying results. It's quite pitiful. And I've given in. I let him join me as I change my clothes.

Sometimes I make it to the bedroom before he realizes it. I can hear him scratching at the door, crushed that I would change my clothes without him there to help. When I open the door upon my business being completed, he is laying there. Waiting for me. His pouty face saying how betrayed he feels that I didn't let him participate.

Sometimes he doesn't follow me. But that's only when he is really tired. That's the only time. If he isn't tired, he's right there. Everywhere. When I take a shower, he curls up on the fluffy rug in the bathroom. After he puts his nose into any clothes huddled in the corner next to the cabinet.

Yesterday I almost fell. Backed up from the fridge and he was right behind me. And I yelled. He looked surprised. He looked up at me as I yelled at him as if to say, I was in my usual spot. I am always there. Did you forget?

I forgot. And I almost broke my ankle because I forgot.

He drives me crazy. Absolutely bonkers. And yet I know that someday, when I turn around and he isn't there, either because he is too old to care anymore (could this actually happen?) or because he has left this earth, I will miss him.

I'll miss his feet stepping on top of mine. His cold nose rubbing against my leg. I'll miss him following Isaac everywhere, both of them watching me out of the corner of their eye. Is she watching? She's not watching. Quick. Slip me some food buddy. Quick. There you go. If I'm watching? They look away. Both of them. As if I'm an idiot. Geesh. They both think I'm an idiot.

I'll miss that someday. I know I will.

And I try to remember that. I think Scrubs reminds me that the things that are the most frustrating are sometimes the things we love most. And the thing that will hurt the most when it's gone. I know when he's gone someday, I'll regret the times I yelled at him when I was actually frustrated about something else. I'll feel bad for shutting him out of my room when I change my clothes.

Ummm . . . maybe not. It's quite nice changing my clothes by myself actually.

Aaaaah "Bubby".

You're a good dog.