Happy 13th birthday to my firstborn!

As of today, we have a teenager in the house. But so far she's not talking back or testing boundaries. Probably because she has an electric zappy collar and is just a dog. Though just seems very unjust.


I grew up with dogs. My first dog, Barko, was hit and killed by a car right after we moved to a new (old) house on a busy road. One of my most vivid early memories is of my father cradling him post accident. Awful. Dusty came when I was in third grade. She shed a lot, barked a ton and would eat entire raw chickens left to thaw on the kitchen counter. 


Into adulthood, I knew I wanted/needed/craved the love of a dog. But being married to a very practical, realistic man, we waited until we bought a house with a yard and had reasonable schedules. Once that checklist was complete (and squeaky toys were acquired) we drove to the Eastern Shore of Maryland and picked a puppy from a litter of 11 yellow labs bred to work. Bunsen wasn't the runt, but she was a very close runner-up. No hunter was interested in her 4 lbs. of fluff. I was.

Getting Bunsen marked the official beginning of my very own family. I had a rough many years after my mother died feeling unwelcome and unaccepted among the people I depended on, so it was immensely satisfying to finally have a house to call home and a life for which I was responsible. I had control. And I wasn't going to screw it up.


What I quickly learned is that you can't control much of anything when it comes to another soul – person or pet. Is there a better preparatory lesson for having children someday?


Bunsen was never a happy-go-lucky, dopey dog that people automatically adore. She is suspicious and fickle. She is tentative and anxious. But she is also 100% docile. There is not an ounce of aggression from cold nose to (nervously) wagging tail. 


Bunsen has many, many quirks. She hates the wind or sudden shifts in barometric pressure. She doesn't like cars and will pant heavily for the duration of any ride, around the block or across the country. She stretches when she's self-consious. I have never been able to conduct a thorough tick check or get her to sit with the girls for a picture. No way. She knows when something's up. A chirping smoke detector, my niece's text alert or the dreaded "Biggest Loser" beeping scale will cause hours of uncontrollable shaking.

Bunsen was once a total spaz, I mean energetic dog. She ran around like a maniac, jumped on people without warning, and could not get the hang of a leash. 


Now she is rickety. She has trouble with stairs and can no longer leap with ease onto our bed at two in the morning. She'll whine by my ear until I get up and give her a boost, fully realizing that her crazy dreams and terrible gas will prevent me from falling back to sleep. Last night, I put a pillow (Jon's) by her bum to diffuse or at least deflect the toxicity. It will burn your throat.


The past thirteen years in our lives were momentous. We settled into marriage, had kids, moved, changed jobs, suffered loss, found joy, grew, aged. 


Bunsen has been a soothing constant through it all. She still expects to be let out and back in about 100 times each day. She still gets a treat for doing pretty much anything. She still lets me kiss her a lot, wrap her in blankets like a "Bun-chilada," and doesn't seem fazed by the baby's relentless idol worship – of her food bowls mostly – or Lu and Edy's sporadic appreciation. Edy made her a birthday card before breakfast this morning.

Considering her fear of extreme weather, I don't know that Bunsen would protect us with a tornado approaching. But she does seem genuinely thrilled to see me when I return from a quick errand and stares at me with a kind of knowing that is on a different, better level than human. Or maybe it's her cataracts?

Steady, predictably strange, submissively sweet Bunsen. Happy birthday to you! (And to Joby and Lourdes Leon, too.)


Your question this week: What animal has had the biggest impact on your life? I don't say pets because if you never had pets, maybe it's Lassie or the bunnies that eat your garden every summer.