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The Dog Has to Go!
Roger and Linda Dee thought nothing could come between them. Linda's puppy had other ideas.
By Dawn Zemke | posted 9/12/2008 11:35AM
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Linda's Side: Pets are family members
When I met Roger, I was 52 years old and had never been married. We connected instantly—in our interests, values, and most important, our commitment to God. The one glitch in our otherwise easy compatibility was small, white, and furry: my dog, Teddy.
Living as a single for so many years, without a husband or children, my dogs had been my kids. Still an exuberant puppy, Teddy demanded my attention. He'd jump into my lap when Roger and I sat on the couch together, run off with a shoe, or raid the wastebasket if he felt ignored.
"You're too lenient," Roger would tell me after scolding Teddy. "You have to make him mind."
"That doesn't mean you have to yell at him," I'd answer. "He's alone all day while I'm at work; he needs attention."
Things grew only worse once we were married. Roger was adamant that Teddy—who'd always slept with me—be banished not only from the bed but also our room for the night. Though I'd agreed to the new sleeping arrangements, Teddy objected—loudly. Bewildered when we shut him out of the bedroom, he'd bark and whine at the door. I tried everything—caging him in the kitchen, a special collar that would zap him when he barked—but nothing worked.
"I can't even get a decent night's sleep," Roger growled one morning after another night spent with Teddy crying outside our door. "I'm tired of putting up with that dog."
"Calm down; let's talk about it," I urged, not wanting him to leave for work while still angry.
"I'm done talking. I'll see you tonight." He grabbed his coat and stormed out.
I was heartbroken. Why couldn't Roger understand how much Teddy meant to me? Would I have to get rid of Teddy to preserve my marriage?
Roger's Side: It's just a dog
I'll never forget the first time Teddy came between Linda and me. Literally. We were sitting on her couch, deep in conversation, when a white furball launched himself into Linda's lap. Talk about a mood killer!
"I can't believe you let him on the couch," I complained, watching her cuddle him.
"He's alone all day, so he likes to be close to me at night," Linda replied.
"But he's a dog," I said, cringing as Teddy ecstatically licked her face. "Dogs don't belong on the furniture."
By the time we got married, Teddy had become one of the few sources of argument between us. I thought Linda let him get away with murder—unrolling toilet paper, jumping on the furniture, and chewing almost anything he could get his teeth on.
Linda thought I was too impatient and became upset when I lost my temper and yelled. I didn't dislike Teddy; I just don't believe in treating a dog like a person. And I absolutely didn't want him sleeping on my bed!
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