My girl Olive came to me in 2004 while I was living in Athens, GA. She’s a sweet natured dog, who is as content to sit with her chin on my knee staring soulfully at my face as she is to spin herself in circles of happiness until she falls over. She’s deaf, so we have a few hand signals that mean “come here” or “sit” or “no.” Other than that I’m a non-fussy dog owner who just enjoys companionship on road trips and someone else to blame farts on.
The idea to have a dog came to me after watching an episode of CSI. That week, a rather stereotypical crazy cat lady was murdered and left inside her house full of felines. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0534663/ It is apparently a well known fact that almost as soon as their owners die, cats view the newly minted corpse as a food source. The chewing commences at once. I was living alone at that time. Just two sweet-seeming cats, Nero and Hazel shared my post-graduate duplex. From that day forward I began to notice that they watched me closely every time food went down the wrong pipe, or I tripped on my untied shoelaces. My pets wanted to eat me. I was certain.
Dogs, on the other hand, must be locked in a home for days with a dead owner, and nearly starve to death, before they will break the taboo. It comforted me to know that when the inevitable finally happened, and I died falling off a counter I was climbing on, that one of my pets would look on disdainfully while the other two began to snack upon me.