I’m a dog person

If it breaks down to dog people and cat people, I’m definitely a dog person.  I love dogs, and I get all gooey about dogs whenever I’m around them.  Last month, when we were helping at that Hillary Clinton fundraiser, one of the policemen said he needed a volunteer to stand around at the front gate with him, I jumped up and raised my hand, just so I could be near the K-9 unit.  And we’re not even allowed to touch those dogs.

I have kitty cats though, because I still love animals, and I can’t have a dog.  Also, apparently, I can’t say no to “temporary” cat sitting.  I also said I’d never own a dog again, after I had to put my dog to sleep.  I spent about three weeks afterward avoiding dogs, practically afraid of dogs, and then went back to normal.   I wuv dogs, I just do.  I want to play with them and nuzzle them and scratch their scratchy spots and run around with them.

My cat jumped up on my bed the other night while I was getting ready to go to sleep, and while I was arranging pillows he curled up on top of them and decided that was where he’d curl up and take a nap.  He doesn’t like to be held, so I grabbed the sides of the pillows and lifted, and rolled him down into my arms, and he and his velvety soft fur tumbled down into my arms and he didn’t even notice that he was being held  because he was too busy cuddling and purring and showing me where to scratch under his collar.  And I just held him and fawned all over him, nuzzling him and talking to him, because I wuv, wuv, wuv him.  So much that my heart swells, and I turn into a babbling idiot over him.

I’m still a dog person.


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