I think one of the hardest things anyone can admit to is that they’re in an abusive relationship, especially if there are no visible scars to show it. In fact, it took me some serious introspection to realize that a relationship I had thought I was enjoying was in fact abusive.

What some people might not always know is that the abuse can occur even when the abuser is actually somewhat obsessed with you. They can monopolize your time, follow you around the house demanding to know everything you’re doing, and interrupt you when you least want to be. They can even “accidentally” damage some of your favorite things when you try to enforce the idea of getting some alone time, or even when you just say “no” one too many times.

This can all be a little more difficult for expats because you’re a bit more isolated than if you lived in your hometown. One of these days I plan to write a blog entry on the pros, cons, and hazards of being an expat. Being an expat can be very rewarding but it’s not always easy, especially when the unexpected happens.

One of the unexpected things that can happen after moving to a different country, if you come over as a couple, is that you may not stay a couple. In my case, I ended up living alone in a house in Portugal, which wasn’t exactly what I had on my bucket list.

Since then I have been fortunate enough to have been welcomed into a couple of expat groups; one is a Friday Beer Night get-together at a bar with a bunch of grizzled men who started the thing when some of their wives began a book club. The book club is long gone, but Beer Club is still going strong, which proves that beer is mightier than the pen. There’s also a group in Sesimbra that has welcomed me with open arms. I gotta tell ya, one of the coolest things about living in Europe is the variety of nationalities you can end up making friends with. Our Sesimbra group has members from Brazil, Canada, Finland, France, Germany, Iran, Ireland, Israel, Poland, Portugal, Slovakia, the U.K., and the U.S. So every gathering is a bit like being in the United Nations. It’s just so cool to hear the points of view, wisdom, and experience from people who have come from all over the planet.

While those groups help keep me social, they don’t always alleviate the occasional loneliness I feel when I’m home alone. Some friends suggested I should get a dog, but I never really wanted the responsibilities, including what to do with him/her when I traveled, the fact that I had a yard full of gravel (picking up dog poop in gravel is like trying to salvage undigested M&M’s from your toilet… ooh- that was a gross metaphor!), and said yard has fences that aren’t particularly designed to keep animals in or out. Not to mention duties like vet visits, feeding, leaving them alone while I go to the store, secretly burying the cats, and so on.

But then I met a new puppy dog up the street, I think a terrier mix of some sort. The owner told me her name was Mel, which means “honey” in Portuguese. Despite being nearly full grown, she was slender enough to fit through the fence railings, and energetic and friendly enough to do so as I strolled past on my way to taking a walk. It wasn’t long before she began following me on every hike, including back to my house after I was done with the walk. After this turned into a routine, getting her to go home became difficult. She wanted to stay with me and outright refused to leave the property. So I’d bribe her with a treat by throwing it past the electric gate and then closing it after she ran to get the food. Looking at her puzzled and broken-hearted face as the gate closed nearly broke my own heart, but she had to go home!

That worked for about a week, until she figured out how to jump over my fence. Initially, I didn’t think she’d be able to; I knew she ran like the wind but I soon discovered she is also quite a majestic leaper. In what turned out to be the last time I threw the treat past the gate, I watched it close, with me on one side and Mel on the other. Once it clanged shut, I turned and walked the ten meters to my front door, only to be beaten to the door by Mel.

All I could do is laugh and hope that she’d give up after a while. So before opening my front door, while stifling any overt display of admiration for her leaping abilities and determination, I gave her some scritches along with some very specific instructions as to the hows and whys she had to go home, then squeezed through the door without letting her in. She immediately started yipping and yelping and scratching at the door, so I surrendered and let her in just to keep my house in one piece. She ended up spending the rest of the afternoon and into the evening with me. Eventually it became time for bed, so I really needed to try to make her go home. Once again I put her out and locked the door and went right to bed so I wouldn’t have to listen to the whining, eventually putting a pillow over my head to drown out the mournful sounds and banging. I don’t know how she did it, but she rattled that door like it was a group of zombies trying to burst through to eat what’s left of my brain. I have no idea how long she was out there, but I drifted off to sleep to the sounds of pounding, rattling, whining, barking, and some very ribald doggie cursing. I fully expected to find a horse’s head on the welcome mat in the morning.

Instead, I woke up to find the welcome mat completely ravaged and scattered around the yard in pieces, no longer offering a welcome in front of what was now a very scratched-up front door, and a torn-up screen in a section of the screen door in the patio, which she ripped through just so she could get to the house door and scratch on that too. The second time I attempted the same process I went back to see what she was doing before things got out of hand and I saw her climbing up on the couch on the patio just so she could reach the screened window next to the door. Fortunately, I caught her just in the nick of time, and realized I needed a new game plan before she attacked every window in the house.

It was also then that I fully grasped that not only was I having an affair with my neighbor’s dog, but I was also in an abusive relationship.

She began spending more and more time in my house, but I still had the problem of getting her to go to her real home. I finally figured out how to trick her by first opening the gate and then getting into my car. The first time or two I drove out into the street, at which point she’d understand I was leaving and would trot up the road. Pretty soon she was getting the idea and as soon as I got into my car she would run home, with no need to even turn on the ignition. Although I did catch her now and then going up the road a short ways, and then turning around and waiting to make sure I really was leaving. When I was put under that scrutiny, I drove into the street to sell it better. If she still didn’t didn’t budge, I would drive down the street and out of sight around the corner and make a loop, and when I returned she apparently was finally convinced, and gone.

I didn’t win all those kinds of battles, she’s a smart cookie. But she now trusts that when I make a move to get into the car, that means I’m leaving and she needs to go home. Now I just have to open the gate and reach for the car door, and she gives me a little goodbye nod and trots off to her other home. I quietly close the car door and the fence, relieved that we have a system that still works.

While our relationship began as an abusive one as she made sure I knew the lengths she would go to if I didn’t dance to her tune, over the weeks and months we’ve settled into a nice routine where everyone: myself, the actual owners, and Mel herself, gets exactly what they want. I haven’t taken a walk without her in months, because even if she’s not obviously outside when I walk by their house (and pretty much have to for all my walks), it’s never long before I feel a wet nose on my hand. I rarely hear her coming; she moves like a silent ninja assassin running on a field of marshmallows.

One time when I was returning from a walk with her and was near the owner’s house, the owner drove up and got out of the car. We exchanged pleasantries, then he called Mel to come to him. She refused and sat by my side. He laughed and shrugged. She followed me home, or I should say, I followed her to my home.

When she’s inside, whatever room I’m in, she has to be there too. I have a spiral staircase she can’t climb up, and the first time I went up it with her in the house she sat down below and barked until I came back down. And she rarely barks. When I sit in my easy chair to read the news or, say, write this blog, she’ll usually climb onto the chair, push the computer off to the side, plant her head on my chest, and start snoring within minutes. Once she does that I allow myself to be held captive because I just hate to wake her up and frankly, having another warm, breathing, living being snuggling on me is like a little slice of heaven. It takes longer for me to accomplish anything nowadays, but ah, the things we do for love.

In fact, I’ve come up with a new theological belief worth considering because of her. From now on, if someone asks about my religious beliefs, I’ll just say, “I believe in Dog.” I think that dogs might have been put here just to show us what loyalty, love, and companionship are all about, and when we die we’ll be judged on how well we treated them. No other animals, just dogs. In fact, I think someone transposed a couple of letters in “God” a long time ago. It’s easy for me to imagine that anyone who abuses a dog deserves a one way ticket to hell, which, by the way, some people feel might be populated by cats. I love cats, but I could be convinced that they were perhaps made by the dark side to distract us from dogs as well as keep an eye on us. Unfortunately, many cats are annoyed at having to do so and aren’t particularly good at keeping that a secret. I think their creators added the purring ability to help offset that as well as all the biting. But they’re still not dogs.

Anyway, I have literally had to change almost all of my routines to accommodate a twitterpated dog, and I’m loving every minute of it. I may have been in an abusive relationship, but love means acceptance and forgiveness, and that’s what both of us give each other every day in addition to lots of doggie kisses.

As I mentioned earlier, people had been telling me for months that I should get a dog, especially since my Quasimodo looks and Dr. House bedside manner have apparently gotten in the way of the hordes of women who otherwise would be knocking down my door offering to snuggle me to my heart’s content. As a result, my home has gone from generally being neat and tidy to one that has doggie toys strewn about, a water dish that sometimes has more water around it than in it, dust and dirt showing up like swirls of abstract graffiti on my terracotta-colored tile floor, ticks wandering to and fro throwing rowdy parties, and scratched-up doors and window screens. I could have a big sign out front saying, “A Dog Lives Here” and wouldn’t be surprised if someone wrote “No duh!” on it.

The owner’s university-going daughter is apparently the one in their household who is the most responsible for Mel, and we’ve forged a co-parenting relationship whereby we text each other regularly on all things Mel. If Mel is at my house and the daughter is home and wants some Mel-time, she just texts a short message telling me to send Mel home. I just go outside, open the gate, start walking back toward the car, and she’s off to the races.

Nearly every morning between 8 and 9, Mel’s happy little face and furiously wagging tail appears outside my glass door. I left the triangle of screen bare so she has her own doggie door to get into the screened-in patio, which is where the glass door leading into the house is. She no longer scratches at my front door, especially since most of the time between 8 and 9 I make up constant mental excuses to walk within eyesight of the glass door to see if she is there. In fact, she’s learned that whining a little and being patient gets her inside, so we all now have a routine that’s working great and doesn’t involve any ongoing property damage. The other day I went out about 9 AM to hang the laundry and wondered why she wasn’t out there, when suddenly I felt a cold wet nose on the back of my leg. She moves like a ghost. But she shows up virtually every single morning.

So now I have the best of all worlds. I have a dog who adores me, and vice versa, and who shows up in the morning and hangs out all day, then returns to her main home at night. Once in a while she’ll make it clear that she wants spend the night by refusing to even go outside. Since she gets fed at her other home in the morning, after I get up it’s not hard to get her to finally go up there. In this part of Portugal it’s not unusual for people to leave their dogs outside most of the time. I’m imagining that without me, Mel runs around the neighborhood with a bunch of teenage dog rabble-rousers trading doggie treat recipes and playing pranks on other homeowners by ringing the doorbells and then running away giggling. They probably also toilet paper trees and put lit firecrackers in mailboxes.

I’m pretty sure she doesn’t really do those things, but sometimes I wonder if she has a secret double life and gets together with other dogs chasing every cat they can find and digging holes where they shouldn’t, all night long, because often when she arrives in the morning she falls right to sleep and stays that way for hours. I’ve smelled her breath for alcohol, but she’s apparently able to mask that by eating a whole fresh fish. I have no idea what kind of doggie drugs they might be into.

When it’s all said and done, the way Mel has adopted me is nothing short of miraculous, really. I get all the benefits of having a dog without a bunch of the hassles. You know those movies that have scenes of craziness where the family dog absolutely ruins an entire room or more, like in Beethoven, or a very cute Brazilian movie called Caramelo, and the owners never seem to be upset for more than a minute? Well, that’s just the movies, they never show the hours of clean-up or the credit card receipts for all the furniture that had to be replaced. But it still represents what love is. I love that little gal and think she’s the cutest dog in all the world, and she could destroy just about anything of mine and I’d still love her. Because y’know, it’s just stuff. As Robert Heinlein wrote in Stranger in a Strange Land, “Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person, or dog,* is essential to your own.”

*Far be it from me to add or change anything the great Robert Heinlein wrote, but love makes you do crazy things.

Her owners are delighted that Mel has a place to go and is loved, and Mel can pick and choose between two homes that each give her stuff she likes. It’s also perfect for both owners, I don’t have to worry about leaving the house and they know Mel is safe when they’re at work or school. We communicate regularly, and are both very happy with this very unique arrangement. And I can tell Mel loves both of her “alphas,” I know she’s well treated at home.

Now that’s what I call a win/win/win.

It occurred to me that a great service to offer would be pairing dog owners who have to leave their doggies home alone all day with shut-ins or retired folks who’d love the company of a dog without some of the ownership hassle. In other words, duplicating what I already have. In fact, I even had some friends (who have since moved, sadly) in the neighborhood with a similar situation to mine; their neighbor had a large dog with a lame leg that was left alone a lot, and after a while my friends started bringing him into their house and it was a great deal for all… until they unfortunately had to move. But that’s two of these kinds of situations in just one neighborhood… dunno if this is just a Portuguese thing or if it’s an idea that could work everywhere, but I think it’s a good one! If you have a dog you have to leave alone all day, ask around… there may be some retired folks nearby who would love to have a dog keep them company during the day!

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That was Mel doing a little typing after jumping in my lap while I was writing that last sentence, putting her head on the keyboard and demanding some attention. In the process, she not only typed out a great password suggestion, but she made me smell like dog, probably transferred over a few ticks, and forced me to stop my work. This morning she greeted me with joyful whines and squirms and yelps as if I was her long-lost dad returning from war. She makes me laugh almost every morning with her exuberance, happiness, and cute face. One simply can’t ask for a better way to start one’s day, even if one ends up smelling like dog, and even if your name isn’t One.

Okay, like a proud papa showing off his newborn, here follows an assortment of photos I’ve taken and will probably use when submitting my entry into the Cutest Dog in the World contest.

The photo on the left was taken during a party at my house, and I thought it was cute so I asked AI to make a few changes to it. Mel is definitely a maestro, she had an entire group of strangers (to her) fawning over her constantly, and she worked the room like a pro.

Dogs were created to be intentionally cute, just like human babies, in order to prove that anyone who abuses them deserves a pitchfork right up the butt.

I don’t know if you can see the resemblance like I do, but I used to get the evil eye from Mel a lot during the early days of her training of me.

I honestly don’t even feel worthy of another living, breathing being like this loving and yearning for so much attention from me.

Here she is on our walks. She loves running through the expansive tick housing developments, generously offering a free ride into town for any tick that wants to hop on. Occasionally she’ll encounter another dog, and after brief introductions, they run pell Mel (ha!) all over the place, sometimes disappearing for a quarter of an hour or more. But she always finds me before I get too far down the road.

When the sun’s out during our walks, she finds any shady spot she can to rest up for a while. She also loves digging like mad; I’ve never figured out what she’s after. At the end of our walks, she always goes to my gate and waits patiently for my two legs to catch up to her. Keep in mind we have to pass by her actual owner’s house to get there.

There are two kinds of dogs in this world, those who go around mud puddles, and those who go right through them. Three guesses as to which one Mel is (if you need all three guesses for a question with only two options just know we think you’re very special). She also loves her toys, often cramming as many as she can into her mouth at one time. Her favorite game is tug-of-war, and will play until I’m worn out. I have yet to find the amount of time it would actually take to wear her out from that game.

A man and his dog. Although not quite his, just perfectly so.

She also is photogenic enough to be a dog model. Here’s an ad I made for Spring to use if it ever gets its act together and starts advertising, because the popularity of Summer is starting to eat into Spring’s numbers.

Okay, here’s the last of them. As you can tell I’m completely smitten, but I don’t really care if people think it’s just puppy love… because it is!

Ah, Mel, thanks for making me smile and laugh and snuggle and feel loved every single day.

(Did anyone else just hear a “Yer Wewcum!” in a Scooby-Doo voice?)

I saved the best for last as your reward for plowing through this extra-long post. This is Mel when she was a puppy.

“Aaaawwwww.”

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