He's a really shaggy mongrel, and his hair gives him more volume than the reality. My sister named him Marley after the legend, Bob Marley. They have the same hair.
Marley and I have always had a good relationship. I mean why shouldn't we? Man's best friend and the Shameless one. Sounds like a match made in cliches.
Sometimes my sister would go out on extended weekends leaving Marley to leave feces on the floor of the townhouse. While picking up feces I realized that this dog needed a real friend. I began to watch him closely, and like any altruistic being, found a way to help.
Take him for a walk that is.
This continued for a while. I get the mail, he takes a shit in someone's yard.
I feel lonely, he climbs on the couch . We had an understanding.
Today Marley and I got into a fight. He bit me for the first time ever, and I hit, kicked, and shoved him for it. We had to be separated by my sister.
I didn't understand what I had did wrong. How could this relationship forged through the fires of adversity be in such disarray?
I cooled down. Went to Buffalo Wild Wings. Took a nap after reading another chapter of Almost French .
I wake up and he's looking at me. He jumps on the couch and a grab a pillow in suspicion. What the hell does he want?
His movements are familiar. He needs to poop.
I get up and grab the key to the mail box. He urinates 4 times. Defecates once.
We get back inside and as I sit on the couch I call for him. He jumps next to me and places his head, which I wanted to crush with one hand just hours prior, on my leg.
"I'm sorry," I say.
He says nothing.
I guess the true strength of a relationship is found in the ability to disagree and still be mature enough to endure.