There are just no limits to the sorts of things we'll do for the people we love. Mountains will be climbed. Rivers will be crossed. Valuable internal organs will gladly be donated without thought to the long-term consequences. Jars will be opened. Like I said, virtually anything.
Case in point: We're sitting for Steve.
Steve is a dog. Or at least that's how the world may choose to think of him. Anyone who knows my loved ones knows better.
I'm not quite sure of Steve's lineage, except it's one of those very specific, extensively credentialed, purse-sized breeds which has the word "poo" in its name. He enters into this discussion because he belongs (yeah, "belongs") to my oldest son and daughter-in-law. Which makes him their pet (yeah, "pet").
From a descriptive standpoint, Steve looks pretty much like a cross between a dust mop and a teddy bear by way of an Ewok. He's over-indexed a bit toward eyes and tail, a fact which probably won't change significantly as he ages.
The most fortunate breed of dog in the world is any pet that belongs to a young lady who has yet to wed. In fact, if re-incarnation was a thing and you couldn't come back as a human, each and every one of us would line up to be a single girl's dog.
The second most-fortunate would be any dog belonging to my daughter-in-law. The reason Steve isn't in first is that, by dint of marriage, he doesn't have the entire sofa to himself. Bummer.
Steve seems to have gotten over that, since his default emotional setting appears to be boundless joy. Except on those rare occasions when he's upset. In those moments he sounds remarkably like someone repeatedly stepping on a squeaky toy.
Speaking of stepping, Steve is equal, though not particularly large, parts convivial and curious. Which means he really likes to be where you are. Like, right where you are. Like "right under your feet" where you are. Which means to be around Steve is to constantly be doing the Hokey Pokey, except you might be sticking your right foot out and waving it all about, but you never get to put it back in.
I mention this only because my son and daughter-in-law have taken an extended trip out of town and have left us with their most valuable, most important possession. And this is taking into account that my son has a pretty sweet set of golf clubs.
They entrusted us with Steve.
Now, I'm not quite sure there's a lot of "trust" built into the "entrusted" portion of that, particularly since Steve came with three pages of instructions as to his care and feeding. That's a page and a half more than came with my iPhone, as a matter of reference.
He also came complete with assorted dog treats that have been produced in such a manner that for at least the duration of his visit, I need to be pretty careful if I start rummaging around in the cabinet for a snack.
And there's the matter of his general lack of understanding of the concept of personal space, manifested in his tendency to drape himself over you and just lay there. Starts off as a bug, turns into a feature. Or the fact that he suffers from separation anxiety, coupled with a not-too-clear understanding that, just because you're behind a shower curtain doesn't mean he's in bathroom by himself. Started off as a bug and ... stayed there.
Now, none of this is particularly unsettling or even unpleasant, except that it's a bit out of the ordinary for two people who only recently have been able to define ordinary as having fewer people or animals in our home.
And that's where the limitless number of things you'll do for the ones you love comes in. It's not that we don't love Steve. It's just that we do love our son and daughter-in-law so much that, even if we didn't love Steve, we'd still take care of him.
Want another example? My son isn't exactly a pet person (apple, tree). But he loves his wife and his wife loves the dog. I'm not a math whiz, but even I remember that if A equals B and B equals C, then ...
So if Steve whines a little, and if you have to ring a bell to get him to go outside and make sure he doesn't snag that bit of pizza that fell to the floor, well, that's a pretty small price to pay. Especially when you'd do anything.
Commentary on 05/25/2018