I love my dog… Just not that much. Well, I guess I can’t really call her my dog. I love the dog; there, that’s better. Five years ago, I first discussed getting a dog with my roommate and when a friend of his mentioned she had a puppy to give away, we were placed with a collie mix that we named Georgia. We were actually given a choice between two dogs, and my daughter helped choose Georgia. There is no feeling quite like watching your young daughter pick a dog.

Thanks to my allergies, I’ve never really been that big of an animal fan. When I was young, I loved them as all children do, but petting a cat or a long-haired dog meant waking the next morning with my eyes and nose sealed shut. This love/hate relationship with animals gradually turned me into a mean, little torturer. Incidents involving the testing of the nine lives theory, as well as several innings of frog-baseball, litter my youth. I guess I am sort-of fortunate that I am not a serial killer. Well, not yet anyway.

Luckily, over time, a de-facto peace came to exist between me and cat kingdom. I try not to touch them, drop them from tall staircases, or set their tails on fire, and they agree to let me breath. It is a precarious cease-fire, danced on a hot tin roof and held together by fears of mutually assured destruction.

Dogs, on the other hand, don’t cause me much trouble anymore, and aren’t nearly as organized as cats, so no peace is required. I mess with dogs the way I mess with people. I poke and prod and play; I really like to rough-house. The downside of this play is that some dogs don’t like rough-housing at all. Dogs like Georgia.

When we first got Georgia, I could not yet see her anxious nature, and playfully tortured her. I would chase her around the house with an overturned basket, scaring her into a trap. As I write this I am struck by how oddly similar I treat puppies and dates. I probably need to discuss that with a professional.

As you might guess, messing with Georgia, as an already nervous puppy, led to her becoming one of the most skittish dogs I have ever known. Very soon, and for several years, Georgia wanted absolutely nothing to do with me, no matter how many bones I gave her. She would hide under my roommate’s bed for days if he was out of town, and getting her out from under could sometimes take hours. She was probably waiting for Liam Nesson to come and save her from the malevolent blond human living in the next room.

In the last few months, I have been spending much more time at home. In that time, I have gone out of way to be sweet to Georgia, in an effort to mend long busted fences. Special treats and lots of love are always on the menu these days, and my efforts have yielded fantastic results. I am greeted often, at the door even, with a wagging tail and begs for attention. Last week, when I was terribly sick, I was shocked when Georgia laid next me on the couch for hours, making my misery that much more bearable.

On Wednesday, I found myself alone in the house. It was around noon, and I had just finished doing some writing when I decided a little “me-time” was in order. Jumping back into bed, I quickly picked out some porn, hit the lotion, and got to work, with my right hand holding my phone, and the left gripping my man-tackle. I was just getting started when my bedroom door burst open. It was Georgia.

Before I could do anything, she jumped onto the bed and immediately lay down along my back, right up against me. At first, I tried to move over, but she quickly shuffled with me to remain directly against my backside. I was stuck. What should I do? I wondered. If I scare her off, it could set our new-found relationship back months. If I do nothing, I will in fact, have committed a dubious act while lying next to a dog. I was also reminded of the time my grandmother walked in on me feeding the animal. I told her I was praying, but she still confiscated all of the catalogs that included advertisements for female underwear.

In the end, I did nothing. Our new peace had to be maintained, so I just let the damned needy, nosy dog lay there next to me. Now, I know what you are wondering, and the answer is yes, I still finished. It wasn’t easy, but I am a trooper when it comes to these things. With some determination I was able to reach satisfaction, while simultaneously retaining the love of my long lost friend, and fighting back my most terribly embarrassing childhood memory.

Happily, this problem has an easy fix, so a new locked-door-animal-feeding policy now exists, regardless of how many humans are home. Like I said; I love the dog… Just not that much.

Post Script: Georgia trying to heal my cold.