Before my most amazing friend Laurie left my apartment to drive back to North Carolina this week, she took a call from her daughter.
“I need to tell you now that I am so sorry, there are no pictures of Hoover, because Hoover is not here,” she said to Lucy gently, as though she were dropping the news that she was moving to Antarctica, never to return. “He’s with his grandparents. I didn’t get to see Hoover, so you don’t get any pictures of Hoover. That’s why.”
Hoover, as you probably know, is my dog. And I’m fully used to people visiting from up the street or states away under the guise of seeing me, when the treats spilling out of their pockets and their darting eyes indicate that I was not their target at all.
This devotion extends to business travel. I went to Los Angeles two years ago for a conference, attended by many dear colleagues I’ve known for years. I ran into my friend
at the opening party. So thrilled to see her after many years and a whole pandemic, I went in for a hug.“Hey!” she said, stepping back and eyeing me suspiciously. “Did you bring Hoover? I was really hoping to meet him!” I guiltily said no, and tried extra hard to entertain her with good conversation to compensate. She played along, but I know when I’m just the opening act.
So you see where this is going. When I adopted a semi-feral sentient baked potato pretending to be a dog eight years ago, I was not prepared for the fact that he would someday — due in no small part to his savvy decision to start an Instagram account (please go follow him, he’s worried about keeping up with the new crop of Insta-famous puggles) that showcases his curmudgeonly personality and dapper good looks — kick me out of any role of importance in my friends’ lives.
Or maybe even MY life, writ large. I am now, it appears, not a valuable colleague, unless I produce my canine deliverable. “Where’s HOOVER?” they say on Teams. “How is HOOVER???” “Really hoping for a Hoover sighting!” I’m a questionable family member without him, and I can even leave, and no one notices. (He is currently on a month-long sabbatical at Grandma and Poppy’s house). I even wonder of what value I am rattling around my house dogless, to be honest. While he’s been gone, I feel more boring, and definitely less Instagram-worthy. Needless to say, his engagement knocks my stupid feed of flowers and bookstagrams out of the park.
In my life as a social media consultant, I have said over and over ad nauseum, “If you want to kill it on Instagram, be a dog.” And I am completely serious.
The good news about this is that when my very limited social battery fails, I can bring up Hoover videos on my phone and let the people scroll through them until closing time. Also, I can talk about him as much as I want — which is all the time — because people seemingly never tire of this. I cannot complain this, because I don’t either. He’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, and sharing the joy of his seriously dim (he is not the sharpest tool in the doggie daycare, put it that way) but deeply loving and exuberant personality is joy squared. Joy infinity, actually.
So yesterday, when my best friend in the world showed up at my house with her daughter, and they indulged the chore of conversation with me until they asked for a return visit “when Hoover is here,” I didn’t blink. Ditto this morning, when a friend who’s coming over later said mournfully, “Do I get to see Hoover, or is he still on sabbatical at Grandma’s?”. If this 23-pound snoring croissant makes me as happy as he manages to just by drooling on my couch, barking at recycling bins and taking all my money at the vet, I am deeply satisfied to share that wealth.
Dogs might be better than people, but people who love my dog this much are a very close second.
Dog Dopamine hits from around the web
My pal Martha (aka Marv) lives with my friend Lisa — inaugural Oh My Dog dog person of the week. I called this one “How Marv feels about this week’s news cycle, and also late-stage capitalism.”
'She had a lot of greyhounds. She lived on Street Lane in Ripley and all of her greyhounds were also called Street Lane.' — care home activity coordinator Kelly Goucher, quoted in the BBC
Ada Daniel, 108 years old, from Derbyshire, England says the secret to her long life is having dogs and no kids. Welp, I’m about to find out. Happy birthday, Ada!
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Cole the therapy dog (@deafcole on TikTok) takes his first class trip. Best dog video this week, paws down. Check the hat and try not to expire from cuteness, I dare you.
Dogs are on lifeguard duty at Scarborough Beach State Park in Maine. (Where I would feel incredibly safe, I don’t know about you. Look at that focus.)
Steve Greig, aka @wolfgang2242 on Instagram, has the best senior rescue pack ever, that includes Bikini the pig and Betty the chicken. This feed has saved me from a dicey mood on several occasions. Also Steve FINALLY has a pug, named Mr. Magoo, naturally. Here they are on a trip to White Sands, NM.
Yes, Betty made the road trip. (OMG.)
A couple of deals I found
A $5.29 deal on the Super Chewer BarkBox that comes highly recommended by many friends wiht dogs who rip all toys to shreds in thirty seconds. I am on a break from BarkBox so we can catch up with treats, but Hoover love love loves all their stuff, and the toys are so cute it’s ridiculous.
This pet pool is freaking cute for summer. Also you can get in, too.
35 percent off your first Chewy autoship order. Chewy is such a timesaver, and their customer service rules.
Hoover is awful (AW-FUL) in the car, and I’m going to try out this cool dog carseat, mostly for my sanity.
Dog GIF ‘o the week
See you next week, when dogs will still be better than people. And don’t forget to forward this to someone you know who thinks so, too. We appreciate it!