On Being Single and Owning Dogs
By Tama Johnson

Single for over fifteen years (five years longer than I was married), I still daydream about being part of a matched pair.

It is not easy out there. My married friends sometimes look at me with sympathetic eyes, but they have all but given up trying to find me a man.

My dogs have seen and probably will see to it that no one removes them from their vantage point on the totem pole.  It is not that I haven't tired... really I have.  When I was active on the dating scene I used many methods to elude the answer to the proverbial question ...  "How many Dobermans do you have?"  I've told some... well teensy weensy white lies about the numbers.  Or I would just adjust the numbers and omit the seniors... or the juniors, or the puppies... never the total number.  So instead of five, I acknowledged two.  If he looked like a dog lover, sometimes I'd admit to three.

Ask any dog nut why they accumulate more than on or two and you will hear millions of answers.

I had three seniors, one junior, and a puppy.  I'm a breeder... I've tried to quit, but then I've tried to diet and tried to quit smoking.  Face it... I have no will power.

Sometime back I had casually met a very nice man.  The first date was a success.  Rule number one for single dog people is to expose the victim to the dogs no later than a third date.  That way you don't waste a lot of time if they freak out on the "meeting of the dogs".

Jack seemed a likely candidate.  He possessed all of the criteria: sober, solvent, sense of humor!  I premeditated the "meeting" for the second date.  A Saturday night I was to meet him for dinner and decided to invite him to my house for coffee and dessert.

By four o'clock that afternoon the house was twinkling.  You couldn't smell "dog"... who could? I had used enough pine sol and carpet deodorizer to make Union Stockyards smell like pine trees that bore lemons as fruit! I had even removed all nose prints from the patio doors!

I showered and foofooed.  I fluffed and primped my hair.  I painted.  I powered. By six p.m. I was simply RAVISHING!

As I left I lit not one but two vanilla candles.  I twirled in front of the mirror for a last minute check.  No one could possibly tell I was a dog breeder.  Then I spotted the tell tale clue.  The back of one of my beautiful pumps had noticeable chew marks.  I had to hope that the restaurant would be dark.

As I shut the door I had the confident feeling that the two girls I had left loose in the house would dazzle Jack... just as I planned too.

The evening was a superb success and Jack readily accepted my invitation for coffee and dessert.  He followed me home and we walked hand in hand up to the porch.  I felt giddy and girlish, maybe Prince Charming had finally arrived.

With the confidence of "Alice" the maid from the "Brady Bunch", I knew the house couldn't be cleaner. I visualized that I as regal as "Sophia Loren" would swing open my front door and the Prince would see the dogs.  Overwhelmed by their charm, the Prince would then sweep me into his arms gently kiss me with the fervor of "Rhett Butler" and we all would live happily ever after!

I was holding his hand as I stepped forward to lead him inside ... but then I slipped!  Pulling him in after me.  It was a second or two before I realized we were water-skiing across the foyer.  The girls!  They had left two vengeful puddles right by the door.  What could I do but smile and run for paper towels.

"Oh you naughty girls!", I explained... they never do this! He didn't see my fingers crossed behind my back as I lied! With a fake smile on my face, my subconscious was collapsing with embarrassment.  I dabbed (DABBED????) up half of Lake Erie.  (Did I see a smirk on the girls faces as they innocently looked at me?)

Jack had sat down in the middle of the couch.  I choose a chair across from him.  The Dobermans gracefully had assumed their position, one on each side of the Prince.  We made small talk for a few minutes then to my horror I saw "Margaret Rose" my red dobe, wrinkle the back of her lips, cross her eyes (I swear she did) and up chuck all four cups of her kibble dinner.  Jack turned green his eyebrows were so high they were lost in his receding hairline.  Then he pointed to the steaming "IT" and looked at me. 

The dog person, the dog breeder welled up and spoke these words: "Just don't look and she will clean it up herself."  He shifted his position, turning away from Margaret.  As I said Margaret cleaned up every undigested kernel.  After a few minutes Jack turned and looked and with surprise in his voice declared... "she did clean it up!"

You may wonder what ever happened to Jack.  We became very good friends.  Jack went on to live a normal life, found a normal girlfriend, but he still keeps in touch.  As a matter of fact he just called... he is on his way over with a load of scrap lumber for me to make my wing jumps for agility!