Lessons on Marriage from Mr. Higgins

So, you know how there’s that theory that people look like their dogs? Well, this really worries me. And what worries me most is that I can kind of see it. You see, I own a Boston Terrier named Higgins. If you’re unfamiliar with these little gems of a dog, they are not the cutest dogs in the world. They’re a little like a cross between Yoda and a Gremlin and would fall easily into the “they’re-so-ugly-they’re-cute” category. They have squished-up faces, bulging eyes, and ears as big as the state of Texas. They are also known to continue to pee inside the house well past puppyhood—until the day they die, actually—and snort like pigs. I, ladies and gentleman, don’t really have a squished-up face, but I do have sort of bigger-than-normal eyes and I have one ear that’s pointier than the other. I’ve been known to occasionally snort when I laugh and the peeing in the house, well, there was that one time….

When I first got Higgins, he was three pounds of pure cute. His ears flopped over and he would stare up at me with his bulging eyes like he believed I would save the world. I would race home after work to see my little man and look forward to nights cuddling on the couch with him. He made my heart go pitter-pat. He did what I told him to do—except for the occasional pee in the house (but, who’re we fooling? What man doesn’t sometimes pee where he’s not supposed to?)--and gave me unconditional love. Oh, and how my friends loved him! I used to believe that some of them came over more to hang out with him than to hang out with me. His energy was contagious.

Fast forward (or slow forward, if you will) twelve-almost-thirteen years and picture this: A bulgy-eyed, squishy-faced, grey-muzzled little beast whose tail hair has been rubbed away by the hands of Time and whose smell, despite fairly regular baths, singes the nose hairs of all who enter my house. And I think he’s the perfect little lesson in marriage. I can hear some of your eyebrows furrowing—crinkle—but let me explain…

I know some of you who read this blog are in marriages that maybe aren’t as happy as you wish they were. And some of you probably wonder why I’m so longing to rush into something that proves to be more difficult than Hollywood ever told us. I get it. I assure you that I understand that marriage is one of the hardest journeys to travel and that I, in my singlehood, have freedoms that some married women would hock their engagement rings and knock their husbands over the head with their crystal candlesticks for. I also know that these difficult marriages are marriages between people who are right for each other. Don’t even get me started on the marriages between those who are unmatching puzzle pieces. Despite this, I still want it.

Back to Higgins. The pitter-pat is gone. He used to sleep with me, but now we sleep in separate rooms because he constantly pushes me to the edge of the bed and snores a snore that rumbles the house like an earthquake. He is no longer welcome on the couch without putting a sheet down because his smell rubs off on everything he touches. I am constantly picking up after him—cleaning up his urine, wiping the drool off his face, making him wipe his paws before he drags mud onto my just-cleaned floor. He gets fat (and is called Piggins by some who know him best) and then loses weight so fast that I am filled with envy at the efficiency of his metabolism. And, on most days, I fantasize about trading him in for a younger, cuter model. And, despite this, I am committed. I will see him through to his final day. I will pay his medical bills. I will put dinner on his plate. I will give him an occasional cuddle. And I will cry when he dies.

Sound like any marriages you know? Have I made my point?

These are just some little lessons on marriage from Mr. Higgins…