It is said that, over time, dog owners transmorph to look like their dogs.
Growing up, I had a Boston terrier. This made me insecure and paranoid. When you have a dog that is known for being "so ugly, it's cute," it is not a comforting thought that you might conform to that ugliness in your own appearance, eventually--even if it is supposedly a "cute" ugliness.
As an I adult, I decided to get the prettiest dog I could find, in hopes of improving my own appearance by osmosis. This is my style of beauty therapy, my kind of strategy. No waxing, tweezing, tinting, contouring, highlighting or wrapping for me. No, I just want to sit and hold a dog, thank you.
Piper was a gorgeous dog. Dear little Pi.
Then we got Schubert, who is as cute as a dog could possibly be. He's not "pretty," exactly, but he is absolutely darling.
This gave me hope. As I go out with my aesthetically stunning dog, and reap compliments (once at the vet, another dog owner looked past his own pup to our little Schu and said, "That is seriously the cutest dog I have ever seen"), I have hope that the aesthetics will rub off.
The other night I was brushing Shubert's teeth before bed. Shawn holds him for me in our hallway, and I brandish the toothbrush. Wielding a brush laden with poultry-flavored toothpaste, I looked at these two guys that my heart throbs for, and I noticed:
Shawn is the one who looks like Schubert. Shawn. Not me at all.