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Dog Sabbatical

Nearly seven years ago, our son came home with a furry mini tank of a puppy.

Only, my husband and I hadn't wanted another dog.

After our last dog crossed the rainbow bridge, we were on dog sabbatical, taking a break to travel. I liked the idea that, without a dog, I’d finally have the clean house I'd always dreamt of. With an active young family, cleaning was like shoveling in a snowstorm. When the first kid moved out, I could see the fantasy within reach, toothpaste-free mirrors, and days (maybe even a week!) free of vacuuming.

Enter Winston, a beautiful Greater Swiss Mountain, a 120-pound loveable bear of a dog who adores people. He rushes to greet visitors with such excitement, he fully believes they are coming to see him. His size makes him a presence you cannot ignore. Though, if he runs into you, it's like being tackled by a professional football player.

My fantasy of a clean house disappeared faster than Christmas cookies. Winston is the messiest dog we’ve ever had. He dirties rugs, smears windows with his nose, and scratches up our expensive wood flooring. He takes bucket loads of water in his mouth and drips it across the floors. Online sites call the breed’s beautiful black shiny coat easy care. Ha! Easy because it just falls out, literally every day, all year long. Tumbleweeds of hair populate by the minute. I can skate across my floors on his hair.

Despite all this, Winston grew in our hearts.

This past June, my son ventured from the nest and Winston went with him.

The house is tidy once again, and hallelujah, without daily vacuuming. There are no more hip checks on the way to answer the door. No being tackled when I get up each morning—that big bowling ball head pressing me into the wall, demanding a morning scratch. But there's also no excited scramble to join my husband and I in front of the TV in the evenings. No adoring eyes watching from across the room as I sit in front of my computer. No quiet companion for my husband's miles-long walks to de-stress. There's no jubilant fanfare when we arrive home.

Strangely, it's a little too quiet. Maybe it’s time for my husband and I to end our dog sabbatical — with a smaller, less messy four-legged companion.

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