I love you because you walk the dog.
I love you because you occasionally slip up and forget to insist that she is my dog,
rather than our dog.
I love that you are silly with her –
I love that you remind me to be silly with her.
I love that when I say I have to do something, you say,
“Wait, play with the dog first! I want to watch you play!”
I love this because while you like dogs just fine,
I’m not sure you ever wanted one – yet
you were willing to get excited about one for me.
I love you because in seeing how important this dog is to me,
you show me that you see my hopes and dreams, and
you’ll help me get them.
I love that even though you got stuck walking the dog
the day after she had that horrible meal and left a
green smelly mess all over the yard, you only complained
about “the” dog and didn’t pin it on me.
You’ve taken the dog along with my inability to dust,
my knack for making piles around the house,
and my desire to be in bed early every night. You’ve taken the dog
along with my occasional inability to tell you what is wrong,
but to take it out on you anyway.
You’ve taken this big bouncy dog even though your cat hates her.
The way you love this dog tells me, over and over, that you love me
and you’ll take what comes.
Let’s get married three months from today, okay?
We’ll leave the dog at home.
P.S. I don’t really think of you as my dog walker. I just thought it was a clever title. And I knew it would get you a little riled up.
Roughing It 