From A Dog's View

His dog and he came to live with her and I. 

We had just moved into a tiny one bedroom apartment a few months ago. 

        There was no room for them. I tried to tell her there was no room for them. She wouldn’t listen to me, though. She never listens to me. 

      I was so ready to hate him. 

      I was ready to bark in his face constantly. 

     He has a pit-bull and I was ready to rumble with him. 

My job has been to protect her. 

      My job has been to love her unconditionally. 

       And I’ve done a damn good job at it so far.

I bark at every noise. I have to. 

     She’s more fragile than she pretends to be. 

Her own heart scares her. 

    We don’t just let anyone into our house. 

I was skeptical at first, but I trusted her. She said she loved him. 

     But I barked nonstop at the man she loved before him. 

I just don’t trust them.

    I don’t trust men with her. 

They don’t know her like I do. 

    Someone has to protect her. 

Someone has to make sure her heart doesn’t break again. 

    But, when he and his dog arrived, I didn’t want to bark at him. I knew he was safe. It was as if he loved her more than I do, which is impossible. This man and his dog would never hurt her. No, I reckon they wanted to protect her as much as I do. He loved her. He truly loved her. And . . . he loved me unconditionally. And it was so easy to love him. He was kind. The man was genuinely kind. He took me on 4-5 walks every day in the middle of an Iowa winter. It was brutal for him. I could tell he hated the cold. 

I slept on the bed with them. I felt their love. We were quickly becoming a family. It was so easy. It was so natural. He was everything we had ever wanted. 

But now . . . his dog and he are back across the country. And, I miss them. I hate all men, but I miss them . . . I would never bark at him. I would never hurt him. I want him back. 

    I tried to tell her that she was making a mistake when she pushed them away. But, she never listens to me. No, she’s the type of lady that has to learn the hard way. 

    She cries more than I’ve ever seen her. I can’t comfort her. I’m not enough. He was her missing piece. Her heart lingers after him. I hate seeing her like this . . .

     I am Atticus, I bark at everything and I’ve never trusted men. But I can trust him. He smells like home to us. 

His pit-bull was so loving and gentle, just like him. I miss them . . . 

His dog, Stanley, is old, and her and I are moving back into our old home. I secretly hope I can see him again before he goes . . . All dogs go to heaven, right?

 I just wish Stanley didn’t try to eat my food. And I wish he wouldn’t have suggested frozen pizza for dinner 123 times during the 31 days he lived with us.

If she could hear me, I would tell her to hop on a plane immediately and save us before it’s too late . . . 

I hate most men, but it was easy to love him. So, I guess I hate all men but I love one of them. 

I remember when I told her, "You never really understand a person (or a dog) until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” But she doesn’t speak dog.

CH 3/19/26