The man in my bed is a dog, literally–not figuratively, like what my friend Carrie meant when she said, “All men are dogs.” He’s a real dog and the best male I’ve ever slept with. Even now, his head on my pillow, front paws held together, as if saying a prayer. He lets me rest my elbow on his backside, content just to be near me.
Sometimes I really wish that men were more like dogs.
Rufus is more true and tender, more loyal than most of my long-gone boyfriends.
I’m not embarrassed to spread a thick layer of peanut butter, the creamy kind, on a slice of bread and eat it in front of him, all sticky lips and fingers. In fact, he’s most attentive at times like these. Waits patiently to lick my fingertips. I never have to worry about his leaving up the toilet seat either, though I do have to keep the lid closed, so he won’t drink from it.
He’ll always be faithful, I’m certain of that. He’ll never have a wandering eye when we walk in the park. Maybe he’ll take off after a squirrel or a rabbit, but I know he’ll never catch one. He probably knows it too, but he sure does enjoy barking up that tree.
Linda Pizzi’s numerous occupations, include waitress, rock music critic, crafter, and paralegal. Currently, she is an Assistant Dean and instructor at Arcadia University. Most recently, she has been published in the Paterson Literary Review, Philadelphia Poets, City Paper and other small press publications. She lives in Glenside, PA with her little terrier-dachshund mix, Pepper and her crazy calico cat, Diego.