I fall into the former camp. I have always loved dogs - well there was a brief cat loving period but it ended when my cat got run over - and have always had dogs. My first was a sheltie named McTavish who was with me in my early life. He let me crawl all over him and pull his hair.
Then there was my grandma's dog, Blackie, a border collie. He was there for my walks in the wheat fields and always wanted to be patted, which I would do even though he was a bit smelly and quite matted.
Finally, there was Molly. Molly Molly Molly. I got her for my 11th (or 12th?) birthday and after a long and wonderful life, she passed away a little over a year ago.
I begged my parents for her. When they finally relented, I scoured the paper everyday for a dog (this was way before all those designer dog stores were around) and found her for $100. I called all weekend with no answer. On Sunday night, when the people finally picked up (after being away for the weekend - the paper ran the ad early) I hung up without saying a word. I made my mum call back and we arranged to go over right then and there.
As much as I like to think she was my dog, she was clearly my mother's. It was mum who walked and fed her, mum who let her sleep with her, mum mum mum. So Molly ended up being my furry sister.
Since moving to Rainy City, I have long wanted another dog. But there were so many things stopping me: I felt like I was cheating on Molly, I was broke, I had a crazy schedule, I travelled.
Well, now things are slightly different. Molly is gone and I will always miss her, but I am no longer cheating. Dogs are not that expensive and I am no longer that broke. My schedule is actually okay, I am at home all the time, or most of the time - and if on set, dogs are welcome in the trailers. I still travel. But I don't leave for months at a time like I once did.
I am ready for a dog - but terrified at the same time. My mother thinks it is too much responsibility, but the idea of a routine is actually exciting. I should really start getting out of bed at 8 anyways (I need to train it to sleep in). Dogs are great for depression, I can go off my little pink pills and use the routine and care of a dog to get through tough times. Dogs can also travel quite well, and New York is a dog friendly city.
The Engineer is not a dog person. And as much as he wants to be happy for me, he is not. He is an Engineer after all, and engineers tend to think way more with their heads than their hearts. They also tend to come up with all of the potential problems rather than the potential greatness. I suppose that is why they pay him the big bucks.
I have a dog-lema. I want one, I feel I am ready for one, but the big supporters in my life are not too thrilled about it.
And then there is the traveling factor. But I can figure that out can't I? Besides, they let dogs in England now . . . . . and every Best Western.