Just Another Fling?

People say you find love when you aren’t looking. They say it just pops out of left field and hits you right, smack-dab in the head when you least expect it. Well, I didn’t find the love of my life that way. I had been looking for quite some time.

When I was a child, I observed the relationships my parents made. My dad would bring home scraggly, little things that would whine all the time and get angry if he didn’t show them enough attention. My mother would bring home big, hairy beasts that would knock me down at the drop of the hat. I knew I didn’t want to end up with anything like those ones. They weren’t my type. So the search began.

I would scope them out at parks, trying to figure out what body type I liked the best, and what temperament I could deal with. But I just couldn’t seem to find what I was looking for.

The first one I found had this bad habit of peeing all over the place whenever I wanted to give her some loving. I would brush the hair behind her ear, and she would just start whizzing all over the bed. It clearly didn’t work out. We had to breakup.

But one day, I met him. I remember it clearly: it was one of those sticky South-Georgia days where no matter how many times I showered I still smelled of sweat. We were outside of Anderson Feed Store when I saw him. He was gorgeous: thick, black and brown hair that poofed out into the perfect afro; a smile that could make Mr. Scrooge laugh. He was the last one left of his litter, just laying under the umbrella protecting himself from the harsh sun.

I walked over to the cage, and picked up the puppy. It’s fur was soft and clung to my sweaty skin. I was hooked. But he wasn’t. All the dog wanted to do was get back under his umbrella and go back to sleep. So I set him back in his cage and watched as he snuggled up next to the water bowl.

“He’s perfect,” I said, and thirty minutes later I walked away with what I thought would be just another fling.