I started Early – Took my Dog –
And visited the Sea –
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me –
Emily Dickinson (656
In my limited experience with the phenomenon, love at first sight tends to require crowded rooms and alcohol consumption, not metal cages and a powerful odor of disinfectant. But there’s a first time for everything.
My new, age-indeterminate canine companion trotted along Second Avenue with me, sporting a sexy blue tattoo on her belly that marked her chip implant and a new name in honor of the poet whose work can all be sung to The Yellow Rose of Texas. She was now officially Emily Because-I-Could-Not-Stop-for-Death Dickinson Gaynor. And I was wiped out by love, humming Barry Manilow songs, ready to believe in unicorns.
My previous relationships had all been with submissive, short-haired males of both our species — but this one is different in several ways. Emily is an alpha female Shih-Tzu mix, aggressively fluffy and with a startling habit of untying strangers’ shoelaces in elevators or while waiting for the light to change. She would probably describe herself as a wolf and views our ZIP code as a necessary first step toward world domination.
Emily to the Rescue
A few years ago, Emily attained celebrity status in our neighborhood when she took on a 20-something-year-old Citibike renter who was pedaling at full speed on the sidewalk. I stepped in front of him after he grazed a woman who was pushing a stroller. She lost her footing, and the stroller went off-balance into a tree well. Mad Max didn’t stop. After I blocked him, I refused to move, yelling at him to apologize to mother and child — which is when he tried to hit me. Having been a bartender and occasional bouncer in my youth, I was able to block his punch, but dropped Emily’s leash as I did.
Producing growls worthy of an animal six times her size, Emily attacked. The now-panicked cyclist was trapped by the crying baby, screaming mother, and shouting old guy. He also had a 12-pound dust mop gnawing at his calf. Yelling something in German, he picked up the bike, ran into the street, and then disappeared at top speed. Emily trotted over to the mother and immediately took advantage of the ensuing adoration to untie one of the woman’s running shoes. Word of her heroism has gone out on the dog-people network, and Emily’s conquest of the block is complete.
Emily as Muse
We’ve been together for more than 10 years now and still going strong. Like many old couples, inter-species and human, we’ve grown to resemble each other, though Emily has me beat in the Hapsburg lower-jaw category. I accept that she requires far more maintenance that I do — but thanks to the wonders of YouTube, I have learned how to do her complicated monthly grooming myself. I then use the same clippers on my beard, all the time contemplating the irony of our matching white-and-tan coloring.
At the age of 75 — that’s about 95 in gay years to Emily’s (perhaps) 105 in dog — I am both surprised and grateful to find myself in a relationship that actually works — across taxonomic groups and gender, in idiosyncratic meter, punctuation, and capitalization.
Because what I write about when I write about love is my dog.
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images courtesy of author
