High-maintenance, the lady at the shelter says.
I’ve heard that one before.
Bad on a leash.
What self-respecting creature would be good on a leash? He is standing at my knees, his entire flank pressed against me. My hand is on his smooth head.
They’ll eat themselves to death if you let them.
I look at him, you too, huh, buddy?
His eyes
bright and unrepentant,
say, guilty as charged and also
do you have a snack?
They’re very needy, she says.
I kneel down. He gently sniffs at my hair.
And over-sensitive. They really are.
I lean my head into his. Kiss his velvety ear.
They’re adorable but the return rate is so high. They are notoriously difficult to train.
We are on the floor melted into each other. Dog head on human shoulder.
People have no idea how much work they can be.
The beagle looks up at the woman from the shelter.
I’ll take her anyway, he says.
Maxfield, adopted in April of 2008. You can follow his adventures in his own voice at www.facebook.com/maxfieldparish
