Walking the Dog Again
Zurich, Switzerland
Female, age 32
When I first met my husband five years ago, he completely mystified me. I was bowled over by how different he was to me, and any other person I had ever met, and I was amused by how I could be so attracted to him yet not really understand him or how he functioned. He was the sporty to my bookish self, the noisy to my quiet, traveller to my homebody, crazy to my calm and would choose to watch sport over the movies I occasionally went to see. Yet somehow we clicked. Opposites attract.
I was calm, content with my lot and was cruising along happily. Then he came onto the scene like a whirlwind, and a whole new world opened up for me. I was soon enjoying nights out seven days a week and reveling in weekend adventures, as he drove me all over the country to follow his favorite hockey team or sometimes whisked me off to cities as far flung as New York or Shanghai. I’d never have thought of travelling to Asia or America for a weekend, but he was whimsical and a little wild… and I was hooked.
Soon enough life calmed down as the initial flurries of new love settled into more of a routine. He kept up with his million hobbies, and somehow managed to juggle these with his burgeoning career, and me. I built my business and kept up with my own hobbies, which weren’t as numerous as his, and when we moved in together, I also took great care in making a home for us.
Marriage was the next step, and was both inevitable and natural. Like every bride to be, I of course had a few meltdowns and pre-wedding jitters. I would regularly wake up in the middle of the night and wonder if I was making a huge mistake marrying a man who was so very different to me, who was just so busy all of the time. They were just jitters, however, and the day I walked down the aisle I did so with a big smile and knowing deep down that it was the right thing to do. I loved him and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him; simple as that.
A few months after the wedding, I was making dinner one night. With my husband having long working hours, and a hobby schedule to rival a Chinese school kid’s extra-curricular activity, we tend to eat quite late if we are to eat together. I was a little tired so I was listening to some music to pep me up, from an album he had recorded with his band, of course. Then I heard giggling. Overly excited, he will never be able to keep a secret or be cool about something, and so I knew that he’d again done something maybe a little wild or crazy that he was bursting to tell me about. I was expecting perhaps a funny story from work or some prank he had played on a friend. I did not expect to be handed a basket covered with a blanket, which was squeaking.
I wasn’t sure what to suppose was in there, but was coaxed to pull off the blanket with animation verging on agitation. Inside there was a puppy; a little ball of black and white fluff with big eyes and a little pink tongue that was hanging haphazardly out of its mouth. He was to be called Giazzy, and would grow up to be a nice dog. He’s obedient, doesn’t bark too much and is kind-hearted, but he got quite big, eats large amounts and requires even more exercise, which is something my husband didn’t think through when he hatched a plan to buy a puppy.
My whole life I never had aspirations to have a dog, but now we have one and I have to walk him the hour a day he needs. Through the snow, or in the rain, whether I am feeling well or not, and regardless of my busy schedule, Giazzy needs his walk. And whilst he may have managed to juggle me with ice-hockey, singing in his band, playing football, skiing, seeing one of his million friends or working, my husband hasn’t been able to squeeze in these walks… Walking the dog again, and I just hope that this isn’t a sign of what’s to come when we have children.
