That's our relationship. It's brotherly. It's contentious. There's little pretense that goes on. It is what it is.Before you pin me as some kind of unfeeling, unloving monster with hate in his heart, though, hear me out. I probably still won't come out looking good, but the facts are the facts.Slim is a full-bred chocolate Lab. He was a beautiful pup. He was funny and endearing. He didn't take long to to learn to take his business outside when he needed. He wasn't rough or mean. He seemed like a hit. Considering his lineage, he should have been.
Slim, though, started to show some indications early on that he was going to be a pain in my ass, no matter how much time, energy, patience, and understanding me and everyone else in my family poured into him.I could probably paint a better picture, but the simple truth is that Slim turned out to be a dufus. A big, brown, bulky, boorish dufus.I'm not the only who has come to this conclusion. Here are some things I've never heard anyone say about Slim over the years:- Slim is such a great dog.- You're lucky to have Slim.- We'll watch Slim anytime you need.- I want Slim to sleep in my room.
Here's the crux of Slim's problem, aura, being, philosophy, and so on: He has little to no dignity where food is concerned. Namely, he'll stop at nothing to get lips around it. Food is, has been, and always will be the sole, driving interest in Slim's life.
He's never progressed. Never matured. Never acquired more patience. Never showed any passion for anything other than grub. To put it bluntly, Slim does little else but eat, sleep, and shit. A lot.In a weird sense, I admire him for this. He's simplified life to the essentials. But he carries it too far. For example, he literally follows me everywhere from morning to night hoping I'll drop food, make food, spill food, or somehow manage to get food within his reach. When I write "follows," I mean this in the literate sense. Everywhere. All the time.
Imagine your little brother following you for 13-plus years everyday, all day. Imagine now that little brother bugs you a good half of that time. That's our dynamic.
Now imagine that little brother has eaten entire rows of corn in gardens (I emphasize the plural here in bold) you've planted, leaving the stocks knocked over, demolished, and in tatters. Imagine also that he worked his way through wire and wooden fences, ropes, cords, and much more that you erected to keep him out to get to it. That's our dynamic.
From my gardens, Slim has also eaten pounds and pounds of zucchini, cantaloupes, tomatoes, watermelons, carrots, beans, and more.He once ate through a solid tin can to get to Valentine’s Day chocolates.He once ate 400 pieces of bubble gum, wrappers and all. (I could describe to you what I picked up in the yard for days after, but there's no need to go there.)Slim has eaten pans of bacon grease.He's enjoyed pans of gravy.From the stove and sink, he's secured and pulled to his dog bed countless spoons, ladles, forks, spatulas, bowls, cups, pots, and plates.Slim has, without any sense of guilt or remorse, devoured loaves of bread, boxes of cereal, bags of popcorn, crackers, apples, pasta, chips, soup, stew, steak, hot dogs, hamburgers, and so much more without permission.There is even a sordid story the members of my family pass about periodically that concerns Slim and a baby diaper, but I won't go there, either.Slim has stolen sandwiches off the plates of toddlers and adults alike.He once ate roughly three dozen Christmas cookies I baked in one quick sitting. I didn't get a single one.One year, Slim stole and ate food associated with every major holiday. I think he liked Halloween best.And the number of garbage cans Slim has knocked over and spread about to get to his gold are far too many to count. So are the times he threw up the results of his gluttony all over floors, dog begs, children's bed, carpets, rugs, and garage floors.Behavior like this was cute as a puppy. It got old quickly when he grew into a 100-pound dog-child.Truth be told, the up-and-down relationship Slim and I have isn't all his fault. I wasn't ready for another dog. Shortly before we got Slim, we lost our golden retriever Miles. Now, Miles was a once-in-a-lifetime dog. The kind that stays with you year after year after year. The kind I still shed real tears for 15 years on. And Miles was that kind of dog to many people.
So, while I never ignored Slim or treated him poorly or withheld my love, I didn't exactly embrace him, either. So, Slim and I settled into a big brother, little brother relationship that we've had since.But here's the present-day sad kicker about our relationship: As much as he drives me mad, I regret our standing with each, something that's coming more to the forefront with each day because Slim isn't long for this world. He's deteriorating rapidly and sadly. He has time left, but he's undoubtedly traversing the final stage of his life, and I'm not sure how long that's going to be.
This isn’t exactly unexpected. His eyesight is poor. His hearing is unreliable. His hips are stiff. His whiskers and coat are gray. He is nearly 14, after all. That's a lot of years for any dog, and it pretty much maxes the life expectancy of a lab.
From what you've read so far, you may not believe that all of this greatly upsets me, but it does. Sincerely. My relationship with Slim may be the most real relationship I have. We just exist as we are, and we're both OK with that. Nothing phony or fake. No forced hellos and goodbyes. No falsehoods.
So I give Slim extra attention when I can during these days he has left. Give him an extra dog biscuit here and there. Sink into longer, deeper hugs when the moment offers. Talk to him more. Sit with him more. Let him follow me around all he wants. But he still annoys me. And I wouldn't want it any other way.
Slim has been a problem child that never grew up. He's the sibling you just accept will always need looked after. But he is a beloved member of our family and always has been. Who doesn't love a dufus, after all?
And the thing about being a pet owner that doesn't get talked about much is that you aren't always going to bring home the perfect match. Your pet may not be all about the touchie feelies. Your pet may just be ordinary, but that doesn't mean you get rid of him. That you kick him to the curb. Because he is family, warts and all.
Years from now, after Slim is gone and I'm walking through a lush, green yard of grass that he hasn't dug up or matted down or burned with his pee, and when I'm picking weeds in my uneaten garden, and when I think of Double Bubble gum, I'll think of Slim and (maybe) remember fondly what a pain in the ass he was, but also how much about patience, diligence, and unconditional love he taught me.
