BFF

This is Rory. He’s my BFF. Yes, I’m a 31-year-old woman, who thinks that her dog is her best friend...forever (or 4-EVA if you’re still stuck in the 80s). If you don’t believe me, ask Amulet…who will probably groan audibly when he finds out what this post is about.

That’s Rory P. Kins to you, David.

In late April or early May 2005, I told the Antidote I was ready to have kids. We bought Rory about 2 weeks later. Despite the fact that this effectively staved my constant nagging about children, I’m not sure The Antidote was quite prepared for my obsession with my BFF.

Last night, he looked at me and said, “Do you know what dogs are? They’re little babies that never grow up.” He was prompted to say this by the sight of Rory sound asleep on my chest, leaning into the crook of my arm. I had him completely cuddled, laying on his back, looking like a furry mutant baby.

But, that’s not the extent of my BFF-ness. I sing songs to Rory. I make them up as I go along, e.g., “Breakfast for Rory dog, Breakfast for Rory.” I also fill Rory’s name into songs I hear on the radio. Take, for example, the U2 classic: “I Still Haven’t Found What Rory’s Looking For.” If I don’t know the lyrics to a song, then the song just becomes repeated instances of “Rory Rory Rory Rory Ror” to the tune.

I rush home from work every day to see Rory. No matter how I’m feeling when I put the key in the lock, when Rory greets me at the door I’m immediately brightened. He doesn’t care if I have a bad hair day, or if I spent two hours on the phone with some jerk who just won’t let an issue drop. All he cares is that I’m home, he gets to go outside, and, well…that I’m home.

It’s that unconditional love that makes Rory my BFF. Yes, he pisses me off sometimes. Like when I came home to find The Antidote’s Sudoku book strewn in 2 million pieces across the house. Or when we figured out that he was chewing the wood molding in the kitchen. But it’s that face...

...that makes me laugh every time.

Not that it makes me love him any less, but I just found out this morning that my BFF is a murderer. We’d always suspected, ever since we caught him with a dead mouse. But this morning, The Antidote bore witness to Rory’s killer instinct. The Antidote, wrapped only in a towel, glanced outside...

...to make sure Rory wasn’t getting into anything. He witnessed Rory clip a bird and then pounce on it. It was very dead by the time The Antidote could throw on some clothes and get outside. Gross.

I can’t believe my BFF is a murderer. But I'll stick by him, no matter what. Despite his eclectic taste for raw bird meat, I'll keep him by my side because:

Oh, I get by with a little help from my Rory.

Mm, I get high with a little help from my Rory.

Mm, gonna try with a little help from my Rory.

(Ok, so the Beatles didn't know Rory and I don't get "high" with help from Rory...it's just a song, ok people? I never said my altered song lyrics made sense.)