Winston Says: “Really? This chick Andrew?”

We both look so thrilled in this picture.

We both look so thrilled in this picture.

This is a picture from last Thanksgiving.  Andrew and I had been married a month or so and were visiting his family for the holiday.

The morning after we had gorged ourselves on turkey and pie and fallen into a deep food coma we woke and decided to take the dog for a nice long walk at Valley Forge State Park to work off some of the fat that had formed over night.

The entire time we were there people complimented us on Winston and how beautiful he was.

The entire time people asked what kind of dog he was and how old he was…you know the whole bit.

Andrew made me pose for this picture.

Winston didn’t want anything to do with me.

Not a thing.

And still doesn’t.


And you know what…we spend every day together and he still likes Andrew better.

I walk him and feed him.  I pet him and praise him.  I scold him and give him treats when he’s good.


I don’t know what to do.

Every day I pine away for the attention of a dog.


An animal that eats used tissues, 20 year old gum off the floor of our attic and licks bars of Irish Spring while no one is looking.  A creature that almost fainted the other day when a neighborhood cat hissed at him.  A dog that sleeps on my couch and farts when I tell him to sit.

A dog.

And every day I ask Andrew why he doesn’t like me.

“Of course he likes you.  Look at him.”

Winston walks up to me pretending to nuzzle me while I stand there and as soon as Andrew turns away satisfied he pokes me with his nose in the bladder.

“Oh no. I’m not incontinent. It’s my dog. Spearing me in the bladder is his way of showing he loves me.”

Every day I spend at least a half hour thinking about what I could do to make him like me.

But really the only think I could do would be to become a man with red hair whose name is Andrew.

And this my friends…isn’t happening.

So we remain a dysfunctional family – An Irish physicist who doesn’t like boggle, an Italian musician prone to day dreams and a grey haired german hunting dog wanna be guard dog who just went racing around the house chasing a fly.

In other parts of my world: Car totaled. Papa Bear is no more and I left my umbrella in there. S—!


6 responses

  1. I identify with this post to my very core. Our old dog, Carl, was the SAME way. I know you probably think, “No one could understand this” but I really do–right down to the pregnancy and the bladder and everything. Carl didn’t like me. We depressed each other. there’s almost nothing more depressing than spending the day with a depressed dog who could care less about your very existence. I even got a SECOND DOG to try and cheer him up. nothing. he seemed to resent me more for it. sadly, in the end it was Carl who got the boot. maybe you should tell Fat Head this story and see if he changes his tune.

  2. ha ha.. for some reason when i was reading the comments, “mom” and heather’s blended together and i was thinking how funny it was that your mom had a dog, a husband, and a son, all with the same name. i kept imagining the confusion that would bring! especially since I talk to my dog much meaner than I talk to my husband!!!

    i am not good with dogs. so i don’t think i can offer any advice. perhaps though if you played hard to get he’ll want you more?

  3. Note to Lifeafterthecirus That was hysterical! It would be easier to have everyone, and pets, named the same. I’m constantly confusing Dylan for Joel (my son), Gary when I am calling the dogs….so confusing.

    Val….YOU are funny. Winston is loyal to only one person….most dogs are like that. Fenway LOVES me…Dylan LOVES Gary. But I bet Winston would take on anything or anyone who may harm you…dogs have that sixth sense for danger. Rahab amazed me when she was so protective….and by the way, she LOVED Gary.

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