My (imaginary and hypothetical) puppy

I have no idea how all the city folk around us manage to stuff them into their itsy-bitsy apartments, but especially in the Spring our neighborhood abounds with dogs happily meandering around, pulling their people on leashes. Little corgies with their goofy grins, big dogs with their giant tongues flopping out, over excited Golden Retrievers looking up with their big eyes, silently pleading to be let free to chase the mocking squirrels. I'm an unabashed dog person, I always light up when I see one, and every time I come across a particularly friendly job who trots over and tries to jump up, I like to think that maybe they like me too.

Someday, the happy little puppy dragging me out into the sunshine will be a little Nordic Spitz like this one, with its perky fox ears and perfectly curled tail. They're just the right size - small enough to be indoors, curling up with me in a cozy chair, but still big enough to romp and play with. I'll name the puppy something from Norse mythology, so that saying his/her name would be as much fun as being at Ikea. When I come home, Thor/Freya will be ecstatic to see me, barking and jumping excitedly, glued to my side for the next 20 minutes. When we go to the park, we'll play until I slump exhausted, with a little puppy nose nudging me up for one more toss of the ball.

I'm sure I'm over romanticizing the life of a dog owner, ignoring all the chewed up pillows and sleepless nights with a dog that will not stop whining. But then I remember that for now, the only Dog I have is imaginary, and by golly, if it can't be real, you better believe I'm going to bask in the unrealistic perfection.