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Dogs may be mans best friend. But I have come to think that dogs may be woman’s best ideal of a boyfriend. Think about it: Here is this little thing that actually wants cuddles, listens to everything you say, initiates affection even after you yell at it and doesn’t make excuses when there is pee on the floor. On top of all of that, anything that can make back hair adorable, really, deserves to be studied.

 

Sure, there is no physical side to the relationship (It is a different story if there is), but anyone who has even remotely tried to have a relationship knows that sometimes that is for the best.

 

When one actually attempts to have a relationship with a human man (boy, Californian surfer, whatever your choice may be), things aren’t as easy as “Sit”, “Roll Over” or “Don’t eat the last cookie” (Unless, actually, you are dealing with a Californian surfer). Suddenly a whole new vocabulary is necessary, with conversations about “Feelings”, “emotions” and “What do you mean you don’t like it when I do that with my back?” starting to fill up time. But, like trying to house train a puppy, some people need more time to adjust to even the concept of a relationship. Maybe some people need a lifetime.

 

I am one of those people.

 

“I think I am wired differently. I just have no interest in mature, adult relationships,” I told AM.

“That is very sad,” she said into a glass of wine.

“I mean, I just don’t have time for them…”

“Dat is very sad.”

“Like, I just ordered a new Amazon.com shipment, so, you know…”

“Dat ish verrry shad.”

AM returned to her bottle of wine and I returned to thinking about the reality that maybe, just maybe, my relationship with my poodle is going to be the most functioning partnership of my life.

 

It could be worse. Really. I once broke up with a guy who routinely farted loudly eight seconds after sex.

 

There are many voices in society telling Us that we should be on the look out for that special person, being too independent is a detraction, or that promiscuality is not as fun as it seems (read: it is). After giving in to what I thought I should do – having a relationship – I have come to think that maybe we should spend more time thinking about what we want to do and put a muzzle on everyone who is trying to tell us otherwise.

 

“Maybe I am just a bitch?” I asked one of my painfully honest friends.

“Oh, you are. But that certainly isn’t why you are single.”

“Oh. I have a quality worse than my personality?” I started to mentally prepare my “I have an addiction” argument for when anyone criticises my smoking.

“You are territorial.”

“But I don’t own anything. What am I protective of? My books? My shoes?” I held my Marlboro Lights close.

“Yourself.”  

 

Dogs are territorial because they have no higher vocabulary to explain their sentimental attachment to something. Humans, meanwhile, are apt in expressing feelings and emotions to one another (so I hear). So why are we protective of ourselves when we can simply tell someone what we want (or what we don’t want)?

The last relationthingy I had forced me to be honest, because someone in the room had to be. But the remnants of the experience mean that an old dog has not been taught new tricks, as now I want to close myself off to anyone in fear that they to will turn out to be a nineteen-year-old with a girlfriend on the side.

 

After days (read: probably months) of promising, I finally took my dog for a walk on the beach. I let him off his leash (just like I have done to the male equivalent in the past) and watched him run around and embrace the freedom. The analogy finally seemed clearer than ever: all we ever want is freedom to do what we want to do. It just seems that, unfortunately, other people can get in the way. Relationships mean that you have to consider another person. Which can be difficult when you struggle to invest enough time in just yourself. Being in your twenties is about finding out Who You Are. And it makes a long time for some people. Maybe even a lifetime.

I am one of those people.

 

“Is this your dog?” A males voice broke me out of my trance.

I looked up to find my poodle humping the leg of a beautiful [Australian] surfer, far too enthusiastically (even by my standards).

“No,” I stuttered. “I have never seen it before in my life.”

Maybe my ideal boyfriend is actually my ideal version of myself: a little creature who does what he wants, when he wants. With the confidence to make the first move.