My Constant Companion

I just absent-mindendly reached below my desk to pat my dog Lindsay. I felt stupid patting the air. She isn't with me today, and I have an irrational sadness about this fact.

Today I rode my motorcycle to work. You can see a picture of my bike, Val, in all her glory below. I love riding Val, but rarely have the opportunity to do so because I have kids, a wife, and a dog. Oddly enough, it's the dog that keeps me from riding. Maybe I should get a sidecar. Or maybe a lot of bungee cords.

I like to have Lindsay with me at all times. When I'm home, she sits on the couch with me and puts her head in my lap. She sleeps in my bed. She comes to work with me. I love Lindsay because she's the epitome of the "Oh my god I love you so much you're the alpha male I'll be good and will do whatever you say" kind of dog.

Lindsay is a rescued Hurricane Katrina dog. I got her just about three years ago now. For the first year she wouldn't come out from underneath the kitchen table, shook uncontrollably whenever I tried to pat her, and never ever let her tail out from between her legs.

She will now allow my kids to pat her (grudgingly, but with a certain patience), lets the cats snuggle with her, and raises her tail high and proud when another dog comes 'round to play.

I've never been away from her for more than 24 hours unless I'm on a business trip. It's time to go home and tell her that she's a good girl ... Daddy's sorry that she was left at home all day.