This story isn’t exactly unique; you’ve seen it a thousand times before in a thousand different chick flicks: girl sees boy across a crowded room; boy smiles at girl; girl falls head over heels on the spot and runs to him. Only in my particular scenario, girl practically elbowed another girl out of the way to get to the boy they were both eyeing. I never thought I’d be that girl.
Madison Chandler and I met in the Beverly Center. His eyes twinkled in the fluorescent light, and his salt and pepper brown hair was like chenille between my fingers. We spent about twenty minutes getting to know each other in the back of a store that, unfortunately due to the slump our economy entered about two years after our encounter, no longer exists. Twenty minutes was all it took for me to know I wanted him to come home with me.
In the elevator on the way to the parking garage, Madison Chandler rested his head on my chest and drifted off to sleep, and any doubts I may have had about throwing down almost two months worth of rent on him went right out the window. He had me.
Madison Chandler and I majorly bonded from moment one—even though moment one had him heading straight over to my bookcase in the corner and peeing right in front of my collection of childhood photo albums. I was slightly annoyed, but minute two had me putting him directly in the bathtub so he would learn the lay of the land around my house. No boy—no matter how cute—is allowed to make a mess and get away with it! And it seemed to work perfectly; that first incident was his only one, and that is not an exaggeration. He had the quality that I wished every boyfriend before him could have adopted: he was easily trained!
I made his dinner that night, suddenly uncaring if it set up a precedent for his expectations of my domesticity. And I worked with him for days on end to teach him all of the standards: to sit when I wanted him to, to lay down when I asked, to give me hugs and kisses on command. He learned to close drawers on his own, to clean himself, and the names of all of this toys—not exactly the “A little to the right” that Jason’s dog knew on Gilmore Girls, but it would do, and the LePaws Agency wanted to sign him nonetheless.
I even got Madison Chandler to put all of his stuff away every night…but I was so proud of him for figuring that one out that I just kept buying him more and more stuff, and that little nightly ritual began to take over an hour. Eventually I figured it would be much more worth my time to spend that hour playing—or cuddling—with him rather than sticking hard and fast to my “rules.” I may have trained Madison, but Madison trained me, too!
Almost a decade ago, I couldn’t understand the logic behind why Monica on Friends was so upset when Chandler spoke out against marriage, calling it a scam from the government and “just a way for Big Brother to keep tabs on us.” In truth, Chandler was really just trying to throw her off his scent, so that when he actually did propose, it would take her completely by surprise. But personally, I kind of saw his point. I mean, they were already living together; getting married was really just getting a piece of paper with their names on it—like a joint diploma in the school of relationships, I guess. Perhaps I see his point, though, because it’s been years and the only guy I can see spending the rest of my life with is of the canine variety.
Yes, Madison Chandler is a dog—a Shih Tzu, to be precise—but he’s much more than the property that the law considers him. He is my child, my best friend, and the true love of my life. But as much as I love him, I have no desire to marry him. But he is the longest, and I believe, the happiest (I haven't tired of him yet!...though I'm not sure he would say the same about me) relationship of my life.
It's okay; you can laugh, and I won't be offended.
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