This might be especially true from the perspective of my long suffering fiance Jeff. He's pretty much saddled with taking care of both of us. That's not entirely my fault. He's the one who accepted my invite to move in with me two summers ago. It was his idea to get Jackson last summer, though I enthusiastically supported the move.
Now, he's got two hyper, scattered beings to contend with. No wonder he went to Europe for two weeks to teach. Every parent needs a vacation. But seriously, Jeff seems very well suited to managing the wackos who live in the same house as he.
|Jeff, left, is stuck with taking care of me|
and the dog. He's doing fine, though.
Other similarities between Jackson and me are startling.
My routines are similar to Jackson's. When he gets up in the morning, it's up and at 'em! He immediately runs around and plays, and chases around the house.
True, I'm slightly slower, but not much. Within moments of getting up, I'm at the computer, pulling stuff out of the dishwater, or if I'm particularly ambitious, dashing out the door to do some early morning gardening.
When Jeff leaves, Jackson howls in misery and misses him immediately.
When Jackson gets home from doggy day care, his first instinct is to run into the house, see if anything is amiss, then want to go back outside and play by digging holes in the dirt.
|Jackson, my mental and emotional twin|
takes a break on the couch.
Jackson barks when he sees something which is not familar to him.
I bark when somebody does something unfamiliar, but only if I really don't like it.
Now that Jeff is gone for a couple weeks, Jackson looks forlornly at Jeff's Jeep parked in the driveway and hopes he gets out and comes to greet him
Now that Jeff is gone for a couple weeks, I look forlornly at Jeff's Jeep parked in the driveway and wish he would magically appear, get out of the Jeep and greet me.
I've been called a dog before, and maybe that label is just a little bit accurate.