I had a glorious pekingese a few years ago. He was quite a diva and I loved him for it. If it rained during his walk he demanded that we use the hair dryer to fluff out his tail. And, to think we got him at an animal shelter in New York city. He would sing, somewhat dance and cuddle. He comforted me through my horrific morning sickness. If he could have, he would have held my hair back. Alas, he passed away and I mourned and mourned.
Fast forward to last September, when I finally brought home a new foster dog. A toy poodle. At first, I wanted him to be like my past pekingese. I expected him to sing. But no matter how much I tried he just would not strike a note. Instead he plays a lot. Way more than my previous dog. He actually fetches. My pekingese used to look at the balls wondering if I truly expected him to run after it. I didn’t after a while. I got used to his quirkiness. Then I got my new dog Winston and I thought he would be like my previous dog. Which was a stupid assumption. No two kids are alike why should dogs be alike?
So, I have come to learn to love Winston for being Winston. I take it it back. I didn’t come to learn to love him. I just loved him the second he was mine. I have come to appreciate him for who he is. He fetches. He jumps. He doesn’t eat all his food at once at 6am. He doesn’t sing. But he blends in with my carpet. And, most importantly he is loving. He is Winston. And, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Although, admittedly I still try to get him to sing. Just this past week I was out on a business trip and I skyped with him and I started singing and howling in the hopes he would follow suit. He almost did. Victory was so close. I won’t give up on the singing. But, with that said, Winston you be you! There’s power in that.