As I lay here in bed, trying to think about going to sleep and getting enough of it for my six o'clock wake up call in the morning for work, Bentley is sprawled out at the foot, and Lady is curled up next to me. I try to fight the thick stone of guilt I feel at leaving them tomorrow, as I start another semester. Lady is used to this, after eight years of me being home for summer then away for school, then home on weekends, and away for weekdays. I don't know exactly why I feel bad for having to leave them again and divide my time, and spend what little of it I will have this semester cuddling with them on the couch and giving them short walks rather than taking them for long afternoon adventures up to the country or out to the park. I don't feel bad because they have to live in an apartment. They sleep all the time anyway, big ole couch potatoes. Don't get me wrong, we both welcome our daily jaunts into the great beyond outside the walls of the apartment, but truth be told these two Labbies are just as happy snuggled up on the couch or gnawing on a Nylabone as they are out on a walk.
I love having dogs. I love living with dogs. And it wasn't until tonight that I tried to pinpoint just why it is that I enjoy their company so much. I could use timeless sayings, talk about how they are constant, unjudging companions who have unconditional love and are an oasis of forgiveness for when I feel judged, unloved, or guilty.
Instead, tonight, I caught them watching me. Both of them. Just watching with half-lidded eyes. Now, it could be that in the backs of their brains that there is a small hope still alive that at this time of night I will decide it is time to get up and feed them a fourth meal, but I like to think, have decided in fact, that these two mean so much to me, and that their existence in accordance to mine means so much because they are my witnesses. They witness my life. Lady has been with me since I was thirteen. Back when I wore glasses in seventh grade to now. In a serious relationship, in my own apartment, out on my own and in college. Making my own meals, working a job, and taking care of myself, her, her little brother, and Chris. She has witnessed so much in those eight years. Probably the most important eight years of my life so far. It is hard to think that when Chris and I started dating she was only three.
Bentley is a Momma's boy. As one trainer put it from an obedience class we were taking from her, "You are his world, aren't you?" That's it. I am it. I am not only the center of his world, I am his world. His every movement waits on me, he is constantly watching me, and if he is sleeping, a part of his body is usually touching me, if he isn't in my lap already.
I was once asked by a dear friend what my definition of the role of a spouse was. I answered, "To be a witness." Witnessing the mundane activities of life. Making folding laundry significant. We need someone to acknowledge every thing that we do in our lives. Without that acknowledgement what we have is insignificant. Meaningless. Someone has to watch, to give us confidence. What does every child ask of their parents? "Watch me!" That is what these dogs have done for me. They have witnessed my life. And as long as they are here to watch, I have a reason to continue, a reason to keep on going.
So as I embark on another sixteen-week long semester into hell, I don't feel bad about leaving them to go back to classes, or that I won't be able to spend as much time doing things with them. Because they are here to watch, and they will be just as happy laying on the couch with me as I do homework, night after night, as they would be out at the park.
