In the Spirit of Sugar

Two years ago it finally happened. My lifelong dream of owning an English Bulldog came true. In my arms, I held my new puppy, Sugar. She was just three months old, a sweet little bundle of wrinkly skin with ears too big for her head and the subtle beginnings of what would soon be her very prominent and signature underbite. I was smitten.

My reasons for wanting an English Bulldog were simple. First, they only have an average lifespan of 8-1o years. Aside from my marriage, I’m not big on long-term commitments so this suits me just fine. Second, they are notoriously lazy, underachievers who would sooner stay on the couch than participate in any kind of cardio activity. A short walk (and by walk, I mean a slow mozy) is more than enough to tucker them out for the day. We couldn’t be more perfectly matched if we tried.

Sugar is my spirit animal. I have more in common with her than my closest bestie and here’s why:

Much to her dismay, Sugar does not earn an income for the amount of therapy she provides to this family during times of emotional crisis, distress, or grief. Much to my dismay, neither do I.

While she enjoys a healthy handful of blueberries or the crunch of a raw carrot, she also repeatedly begs for snacks between meals, checks her food bowl regularly, and is often found wandering into the pantry “just to look.” Same.

Sugar’s mealtimes are scheduled and her internal body clock has preset alarms that coordinate with those mealtimes. This is evidenced by her hangry behavior beginning 15 minutes before meals and any moment after the scheduled mealtime in which there is no food in her bowl. My family is also made aware of my hunger by the behavior I exhibit.

Sugar has mastered the side-eye. If looks could kill, we would all be dead and Sugar would inherit the house. Though a writer by profession, I believe I too have mastered the ability to communicate without words.

My dog is an extrovert. The only way to convince her that taking a walk is a good idea is the promise of seeing people. This is precisely the way to get me to exercise. The only reason I attend all those fitness classes is because my friends are there. My need for social interaction is far greater than my need for cardio but if cardio is what it takes to socialize, so be it.

On the extrovert note, Sugar absolutely loves it when we host people in our home. She changes from a lazy couch potato to a high-energy, vocal pup the second the doorbell rings. After barrelling our guests over with unsolicited affection, Sugar then becomes the loudest thing in the room, dominating the conversation. This is her vibe until the last guest has left, after which she collapses on the couch and shuts out everyone and everything, as evidenced by her faceplant. For me, hosting people is the same as drinking five cups of coffee; it energizes me, and like Sugar, I may show a little too much excitement for our more introverted guests. But just like the crash that comes from over-caffeinating, I suddenly hit a wall that tells me I am done, and I have to force myself not to turn the lights off on our guests before they’ve even reached the door.

Sugar’s moods run hot and cold. Sometimes she leans into a good snuggle and other times she’ll bite your finger off if you even attempt to pet her. This is understandable behavior in my opinion. After all, I don’t know what’s going on inside her head or how well she slept the night before. I don’t know if she’s feeling overwhelmed or insecure. There could be a hundred reasons to justify her moods. The point is, they’re JUSTIFIED.

I am Sugar’s favorite person in the family. This is an unequivocal truth. Her reaction to my footsteps on the stairs or my voice when I enter from the garage is significantly more positive than her reaction to my husband or either of the kids. When my husband enters the house, Sugar raises her hackles and barks as if he’s an intruder who’s come to kidnap me and rob her of all her toys and treats. I’m not proud of this, but I also have a far more positive reaction to seeing my dog than seeing any member of my family when I come home.

Sugar hates to dress up unless, of course, we’re going out in public. For Halloween last year I dressed her as the Sugar Plum Fairy, but I wanted to do a trial run with her costume to make sure it fit. Sitting there in our kitchen with no one to admire her pink tulle tutu and light-up wings, Sugar sat scowling and refused to look at me. A few days later on Halloween night, Sugar hopped willingly into her wagon, wings alight, tutu fluffed daintily around her waist, and she soaked up every bit of admiration and praise from trick-or-treaters we passed by. She was the belle of the ball and she loved every single second. If I don’t plan on leaving the house or going anywhere that would require me to leave to the confines of my car, you’ll never catch me in a dress, a skirt, or even makeup. I’d be getting all gussied up for nobody and where’s the fun in that?

Sugar’s toxic traits are many, but the most obvious is her lack of empathy. She is queen of the side-eye and when you’re on the receiving end, you feel judged for every poor choice you’ve ever made in your life. My husband has made it known, countless times, in no uncertain terms, that I could stand to “work on” my empathy, but whatever.

My dog exhibits zero self-control. When her monthly BarkBox arrives, she has the sides ripped open before I can even get it off the front porch. After running off with the first new toy retrieved from the box, she’s back five seconds later in search of the next one. She’s like a child with a stack of presents, recklessly ripping through the wrapping, glancing at the gift inside before tossing it aside and asking “What’s next?” Sugar has a serious lack of gratitude. Try as I might to pace myself during a movie with a king-size package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, they’re all gone before the previews have ended.

Sugar loves holidays (because gifts) but hates the extra clutter of decorations (because change). I can’t emphasize enough how similar we are in this way. She impatiently waits for her Easter basket, birthday gifts, or Christmas stocking and rides the high of new presents all day long. Gift-giving is her primary love language (physical affection is second). She is never thrilled about the presence of holiday decor boxes being pulled from the closet, however, and she has a strong aversion to balloons of any kind. She growls and barks at the shifting of furniture or removal of home decor she’s used to seeing daily. Change makes her uncomfortable. I’m not an anxious person, but after a certain point, holiday and birthday decor starts to grate on me and I feel utterly restless until proper order is restored. Also, why do balloons last as long as they do and cast such ominous shadows on the wall at all hours of the day? If it wouldn’t make me look crazy, I’d bark at them too.

Sugar doesn’t love car rides, but she perks up considerably when we pull into the Starbucks drive-thru. (You can see where this is going.) No matter how traumatic the vet visit, or how unsettled her stomach is from car sickness, nothing sweetens her mood like a pupaccino (a small cup of whipped cream curated by the barista: sometimes with a tiny Milkbone garnish on top). Venti iced two-pump vanilla lattes with extra ice have the same effect on me. So does a tub of Cool Whip.

Sugar came into my life during our hardest season as a family. She has brought laughter and love to each one of us, but mostly to me. She is my companion day in and day out, my sweetest friend and my reason for getting up in the morning.(Literally. She expects breakfast at 6am on the dot.) I pray we have many years left with her because just the thought of her not being around brings a lump to my throat. I read once that maybe the reason we love our dogs so much is because the only time they break your heart is when they no longer exist. I can’t unfeel that. I’m grateful the Lord has intertwined my spirit with Sugar’s for as long as we have together in this life.

Sugar is an extrovert. Until she’s not.

Her side-eye game is strong.