His Only Redeeming Quality

This is Porter.

He is our 2 1/2 y/o, balls still intact (hopefully not for long, however, muahaha), springer spaniel.  He is a PAIN. in. the. :insert word of your choice here:.

I've written about him before.  And never very lovingly, because I TRULY hate this dog about 99.9% of the time.

And I'm a dog kind of gal, really.  I love my Gracie girl.

She is mature, well trained, and docile to a fault.

Porter is like a doggy version of Cornholio. (On a particularly unrelated sidenote: Kelsey has recently taken to wearing her shirts over her head a la Cornholio, though she is totally ignorant of the significance, and it has caused me moments of great comedic relief).  He is manic, has no spatial awareness (the dog steps in his own crap in the yard when there is just ONE pile - every other dog I've ever known will step around, regardless of speed), poor table manners and is generally sociopathic.

Lately, he's taken to flying out the door as an introduction to the dog equivalent of a high speed chase.  Only I'm usually barefoot, wearing flip flops, or dealing with some other major speed obstruction, which makes it more like a tank chasing some dude on a crotch rocket.  Yeah, that's fair!  And this is, without fail, always, ALWAYS (why yes, it isterribly redundant to precede two, increasingly emphatic always' with the words "without fail," but you see, I am trying to make. a. point. here!) Right. Before. We. Must. Leave.  Whether we are seconds from dashing to the bus stop or about to load into the car, invariably these are the times when the door gets opened by one of my errant children, and Porter makes his break.  And, some 15-20 minutes later, adrenaline coursing thru my veins by way of unadulterated FURY, I am finally able to return with my vagrant canine.  And inevitably late.

These escapades have me feeling even less love toward my wayward mutt.

But last night, while cooking dinner, I caught a brief glimpse of affinity for him in the back of my mind.

Christopher was giggling, those baby belly laughs that make everything in the world stop, and I stood, transfixed, as I watched my baby claw, pull hair, bite, and lay on this dog whom I loathe.  Porter just layed there and took it, with a twinkle in his eye and an occasional lick to renew the gusto with which Christopher played.

Porter is not my dog.  Nor is he Seth's.  No, we got him because he was meant for Christopher.

Thus, like a mother-in-law, I love Porter because my son loves him and is made happy by him.

(Aaaargh...would insert a melt-your-heart picture of Chris w/Porter here but it is on my Laptop's harddrive, and Laptop died this weekend!!!)


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