When I first began squiring Kate, I didn't know she came with a canine adornment. The first visit to her abode introduced me to a fine chap of Bostonion lineage. At first, we both barely tolerated each other, keeping our distance like prize fighters leering from across the ring.
One day, Kate handed me his leash and said, "Would you like to walk him?" I thought that would be a nice way to bond with this 12lb wiry Jack Dempsey-built fellow. First grab of the leash and I swear, he lit into me like Mike Tyson going after Evander Holyfield's left ear. Kate just chuckled and said he playfully nips when he gets excited. I wasn't buying it. He burst off of his corner stool, charging at me like Jersey Joe Walcott with gloves a-flailing. I threw up a bit of the old Muhammed Ali Rope-a-Dope against George Foreman tactic and wore him down into submission.
Outside, I couldn't believe how much fluid this dromedary beast was capable of holding. Run three feet....lift leg. Run six feet....lift leg. Run four feet....lift leg. This was no Paris Hilton lap dog, oh no, let's make that perfectly clear. When we even came close to him sensing a territorial compromise with another dog, he would hackle up and defend the line. Rin Tin Tin wouldn't stand a chance against this tea pot-sized terror. I just knew taking him for a walk meant keeping your head down and walking briskly.
Then Kate and I came to a place in our lives where reading the Sunday paper with CBS Sunday Morning on the television fit into our courtship plans. But, Saturday night (Take note, Kristabel) wasn't always blissful afterglow and pillow talk. Oh no, the Joe Don Baker of the terrior world had to squeeze in between us and demand attention, but not before doing his famous, "I will walk all over your face and stomp on your manhood" routine. Kate would just mollycoddle the boy and say, "I know, I know, he's a pill."
Time went on and Tucker, the Boston Terrier and I shook hands and put our differences aside.
Now, we have a fondness for each other's company. But, really, it's all for show for Kate. When she's not around, we'll share a cigar, hoist a bourbon and play a round of Texas Hold 'Em on the green felt table in the den.
I am writing this while Kate is away attending one of her service organization leadership training whoop-de-doo's while Tucker is "baching it" with me up at the Villa in the City where we won't have to be watching Dancing With The Stars or Glee or The Good Wife or whatever the women are watching these days. Nope, we'll crank up the Bachman Turner Overdrive albums on the stereo, dance around the living room in our boxers and stay up til the cows come home. Or at least until bedtime at 10pm, when we both get plum tuckered out.