As if 2015 had brought enough change into our lives, Erin and I adopted Magnus, a 16-lb. Chiweenie (a term I’d never heard until after we’d brought him home) on November 1st. It had been a few years since I’d had a dog, but I’d grown up surrounded by dogs; Erin, on the other hand, had almost no experience with canine companions. Collectively, we had no real idea what we were in for.
Over the past eight weeks, our marriage has evolved (devolved?) to the level where many of our conversations are dominated by Magnus’ bowel habits: “DID HE POOP?” “WHEN DID HE LAST POOP?” Whether via text or face to face, it’s hard not to believe that the level of our communication has changed (degraded?) substantially. I now have a poop emoji on my Android phone that I can use to communicate the success (or lack thereof) of Magnus’ outdoor excursions.
It seems kinda pathetic…but also pretty amazing. I’m surprised at how quickly the little guy has wormed his way into my heart.
Erin had been wanting a dog for as long as we’ve been together. I wasn’t against the idea, but I wasn’t certain I was ready to acquiesce to the responsibility and commitment a dog requires. I finally agreed (it’s hard for me to say no to her for any length of time)…and so the search began. We went to the Pixie Project, a small rescue nonprofit here in Portland, and explained what we were looking for- small, calm, and good around cats being high on the list.
A few days later I got an email saying they had a small Chihuahua mix, perhaps a bit more energetic (prophetic, that was) than we’d specified, but he was house-trained and good with cats. A couple days later we went to meet our prospective companions…and, much as I expected, Erin immediately fell in love. As a condition of going to see the dog, I’d made her promise that we wouldn’t leave with him, and that we’d take some time to discuss the pros and cons and the changes it would bring to our life.
As if I didn’t already know exactly how the scenario would play out….
Erin, true to my expectations, fell in love immediately. As agreed, we went home to talk about the possibilities, even as I knew that within a day or so there would be an addition to our household.
Sure enough, two days later we brought home a tiny little ball of energy and renamed him Magnus. We already had a cat with an Icelandic name and one with a Swedish name, so a dog with a Norwegian name seemed appropriate. This leaves only Denmark and Finland unrepresented; for now, I think we both agree that two cats and a dog make for a full house.
Over the past two months, Magnus has turned the accepted order of our household on its head. Sjón, our eight-month-old kitten, is finally coming around and plays with Magnus, albeit carefully and on his own terms. He no longer has his claws out whenever Magnus is nearby. This represents real progress; for weeks, Sjón wouldn’t tolerate being in the same area code with Magnus. The mere fact of inadvertently finding himself in the same room as Magnus invariably ended up sounding like World War III. Fred, our eight-year-old cat, is far less sanguine about the change in the previously well-established order of things. Two months in, and he still rarely comes out from under our bed…except to launch a sneak attack on Magnus, who in his own herky-jerky, high-energy way, is just trying to be friendly and playful. It’s a process, and we’re just going to have to be patient. Someday, Fred’s going to have to come out from under our bed. He and Magnus may never be confused for BFFs, but it would be nice if Fred could relax to the point where they could at least co-exist.
Yes, our lives have changed, but I think both of us would agree that it’s been for the better. The very first weekend we had Magnus, Erin flew off to visit some friends in North Carolina. I had to be at work at 6:00 Sunday morning…and so there I was, walking Magnus at 4:00 a.m. and wondering what I’d gotten myself into. Since then, it’s been a process of adapting our lives to the new responsibilities and learning to love our new 16-lb. ball of energy. We’ve also come to embrace the question that now dominates our lives:
DID HE POOP??
