I miss my dog more than my parents

She never tells me to pick my clothes up off the floor


If you want to see who I really miss when I’m at uni, you only need to take a look at my phone. The background isn’t a picture of my mum playing Frisbee, or my dad sporting a brand-new spotty lead, it’s my dog — Cookie, with her cute big black eyes, and her unkempt white fur and little brown ear, and her little legs just… sorry I’ll stop there.

I know it’s callous. I know my dog didn’t give me life, she hasn’t put a roof over my head all these years, and, yes, she’s never bought me a Christmas present (apart from maybe a stick or an old tennis ball she found in the garden), but even still, it’s her face I need to see everyday when I check the time or check Facebook for that solitary notification.

She’s cute though, isn’t she?

But do I really miss my dog more than my parents? Yes.

It’s not that I’ve got a terrible relationship with my parents. The reality is actually completely to the contrary, but there’s something about my little pooch that just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like the fact that you often find her sleeping in the most unlikely of places – a cardboard box or at the back of a wardrobe. Or her insatiable love of poppadoms.

I’ve got into a habit of showing everyone her picture: friends, yes, but also random people I may have known only a few minutes when she inevitably comes up in conversation. Conversation probably forced upon them by me.

It’s a pet-hate of many a rabbit or cat owner, but something dog owners begrudgingly accept as part of the dog-owning process. But never in my life have I shown someone a holiday pic of my parents from Turkey 2011 with an “aww, aren’t they cute!? I miss them so much!” Or shown a picture of them all dressed up in little smart outfits.

But look, she’s wearing a bowtie!

But look, he’s wearing a bowtie!

 

I miss her so much I even stop complete strangers in the street and pet their dogs. And I get serious separation anxiety being away from her at uni. I sit alone and wonder (when we’re not FaceTiming): does she recognise me? Can she really hear my voice? Does she even care? And thus begins the long spiral of self-questioning, which inevitably leads to self-loathing, which inevitably leads to an early end to the Skype call and an early night.

The same issue just doesn’t arise with my parents, as they’re (again, thankfully), fully rational, communicative beings, but with my dog, alas, it’s just not the same. And so Skype calls or Facetimes are just reduced to me cooing and Cookie staring blankly back. If there’s anything that makes you miss something more, it’s not even being able to speak to it when you can see it in front of you.

All I want is a cuddle.

Not even cute puppy videos can heal my heartbreak

At least I know she’ll be the happiest to see me when I get home. I’m always disappointed when my parents don’t charge up to the door barking and jumping as soon as I knock. Dogs aren’t a man’s best friend for nothing. It’s because they really do care – Cookie certainly does – bounding up to anyone who walks through the door, sometimes tripping over her little legs as she goes.

Just the thought, then, of a meeting in which both man and dog are so delighted to see one another is enough to melt anyone’s heart. I’ll lie on the kitchen floor for hours with you until we know we’re friends again. 

Often I come back from a night out, after one or two too many VKs and do just that, falling asleep on the kitchen floor with my little mutt.

The worst part of it all though is, ultimately, I just feel guilty. As I’ve said, my parents are fully rational. They get it. Even though they may miss me and, despite what I’ve been saying here, of course I miss them too, they understand what I’m doing and why I’ve left.

But my dog has no such luxury. She must just be so confused. Why do I keep leaving and coming back? Does she ever resent me for it?

The lamppost of sorrow and regret

I can pet all the dogs I like but, at the end of the day, I just feel dirty doing so, like I’m cheating on a partner who’s at home not even knowing where I am, completely none the wiser.

Come Christmas, I’ll have to hold her in my arms and will inevitably wonder if our relationship will ever be the same again. Hopefully we’ll be able to work things out.

‘Working things out…’

With my parents, this will not have to happen. Maybe it’s about time I bought a copy of 25 and curled up in a ball for the winter with Adele for help through this difficult time.

Or even better, maybe 27 will be an album all about her dog.