I should state up front that I am not a dog person. Really, I’m not. We’ve had two dogs and I loved them both, and I especially miss Hank, but I’m not a “dog” person. I’m a cat person.

I’ve had to remind myself of that fact this weekend. Several times.

We’re dog sitting for two dogs, and a horse that thinks it’s a dog. All three are sweet pups (even the St. Bernard, whom I swear is part equine) that listen well and obey (well, when given verbal commands. They know there’s a line they’re not supposed to cross outside, but they do it anyway…and immediately come back when I tell them to). The two bigger dogs, though, can take me or leave me. They seem happy to see me because I’m going to let them outside.

The smallest of the three, though…he makes me think that I’ll want another dog someday. He knows how to work The Look and has the consummate puppy dog eyes when he needs them. He dangled the hook early on Day One and set it on Day Two. I let the other two out and he hung back to stand on his back legs and rest his head against my leg, looking up with that “you love me, you know you do” look.

When I finally got him outside, he ran off to do his business quickly and came back to may chair, resting his head in my lap while I watched the other two.

The other two wanted their fair share of attention, too, but that was pretty much limited to having a giant doggy booger wiped across my leg, and 30 seconds at a time each of head scratching. The little guy…he’s an attention whore.

And totally adorable.

This is not good.

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