A dog's life

My girlfriend and I carried the boxes up the stairs. Finally, she was moving in! On her last run from the car to my apartment I heard numerous footsteps click-clacking in the hallway. Whether her dogs could stay too? Not a problem. I was going to spend most of my time at work anyway. And they looked cute enough.

A month later I quit my job and I now spend weekday mornings and afternoons with a dog under each armpit on the couch while my girl’s at work. Just so you know, the kids are normally not allowed on the couch. Except on odd calendar days after 4.15pm when it’s colder than 12 degrees centigrade outside. Trust me, they understand.


It’s funny how two dogs can have totally different ambitions in life. LP was taken from a Spanish death shelter and was flown to Holland for a better life. We call her Spanish princess, because she behaves like one. She wants your love, your soul, your infinite devotion and resents her ‘sister’ if she even gets a very small part of it.


The other one is a miniature schnauzer. Her size as well as her fluffiness can destroy my ripped-jeans-motorcycle-jacket-look in a second. ‘He’s a fake!’ I hear them think when I walk on the pedestrian crossing on my way to the forest.


But don’t let her looks fool you, guys. Dyna is a tough little fucker. She’s almost 14 and doesn’t need your attention, approval or acceptance. She jumps on the couch without a single moment of hesitance. Spends months in the shadow of the Spanish princess and doesn’t care. Shits right in the middle of the pavement without the blink of an eye.


The subtle art of not giving a fuck, by Dyna, my miniature warrior schnauzer.


I thought life on tour was adventurous, but taking the dogs to the forest beats it any day. The fluffy one foolishly runs up to dogs that could crush my skull with a clench of the jaw. I’m sure they could devour my full grown human body in less than twenty minutes. ‘When you get in a fight, you’re on your own,’ I’ve told her numerous times. She happily agrees and always ends up making friends.


LP, short for two French words I cannot repeat publicly, is wiser in that sense. She always makes her way in a big circle around the enemy, no matter how impossible to execute. The other day she swam to the other side of the river and walked parallel to our direction to avoid a most likely fatal encounter with a poodle wearing a pink vest.


Last week I was so proud of her! She cleverly overpassed hostile territory by swinging on a liana whilst not making a sound. No, the Spanish princess doesn’t like confrontation. Does anything to avoid it. We are more alike than I thought.


But then she’s a good reader of people. No idea where she gets it from. Last week I sold something on e-bay and I swear the guy who entered my apartment looked like a serial killer I’d seen in several Netflix documentaries. This is it, I thought. It’s been a good ride.


My little ‘street smart’ Spanish princess welcomed him warmly by jumping into his arms decorated with ink and fat golden jewelry. She climbed into his lap and tried to lick off the teardrop tattooed below his eye.


And guess what? Sold my phone. Didn’t die.