One day this ugly dog came over to my trailer scavenging for food.  According to my friend, he was the neighbor’s dog and had three names - Ziggy, Dufus, and Bobo.  This aloof little shit, who I chose to call Bobo. wouldn’t let me so much as pet him at first.  He did, however, eat a piece of hamburger or chicken if I threw it at his face.

I finally accepted that he wasn’t an affectionate dog, but I still pet him when he let me and kept throwing chicken at him.  After about an month, he eventually started to soften. By June he was cuddling in my outdoor bed with me and insisting that I pet him all the time.  By the time I left last week, he was doing things like waiting under my trailer for me until I came home from work every single night.  He’d run over to the truck and bark and scream like a little girl until I got out, demanding that I pet him for at least twenty minutes before calming the hell down.  It was so annoying, but adorable.  I always spoke back to him in an absurd baby voice, and sometimes in absurd baby Spanish, giving him a new nick name - Bobito.

Leaving Bobo was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  I honestly don’t think I’ve cried that long or much about anything in my life.  It didn’t make much sense to me at first, but I have a hunch what happened.  I experienced love. 

Until recently, I always assumed I was an aloof kind of gal.  Cold almost.  That I lacked all normal womanly qualities, like being nurturing and loving.  I’ve only held hands with maybe one guy in public in my entire adult life, I’ve always hated hugs, until recently that is, and it’s always been hard for me to show affection towards someone unless we were in a dark room and naked. 

But people change.

I think pets are easier to love than people.  Much like kids, they pierce through the protective walls we put up to avoid feeling vulnerable or getting hurt.  And they expose a soft side some of don’t even know we have.

I’ve always made fun of people on facebook who post nothing but pictures of their kids and yet here I was, doting over a dog and almost putting Bobo’s picture as my profile pic. I still don’t think I want kids, but I understand a teeny-tiny bit what it’s like to love something with all your heart and want to brag about it all the time on facebook and tumblr.  

I think in some ways Bobo is a dog-version of me.  Sure, he was hard to crack at first, but it didn’t take long.  He changed and it just took the right person, some patience, and not forcing the issue. In a few months he became a dog that insisted on being pet and always wanted to give back.  He was also an adventurer of sorts and would disappear all day long doing God-knows what.  Sometimes he’d come home with bite wounds, other times covered in things like mud or paint.  My friend said she saw him ten miles away one day, just Bobo-ing around.  He’s by far the most independent dog I’ve ever met, and yet he’s still just a mushy lump of love at the end of the day.

The only reason I was able to leave Bobo was because I knew he’d be miserable outside of New Mexico, where they have things like fences and pounds that pick up all the bobo’s out there.  It also wouldn’t be fare to him since I’m taking off for Argentina this winter.

I will stop crying about Bobo one of these days.  But for now, I’m just glad he taught me a lesson I needed to learn.  Apparently I have a lot of love to both give and receive.  Sometimes it just takes the right person (or creature) to bring it out.