I found a hair in my salad bowl yesterday. It was thinner than human hair, white and a little wavy. It clung to the bottom of the bowl, drenched in salad dressing. It did not bother me. It did not belong to me, which would have bothered me. It belonged to Cleo, the four-legged one in the house and seeker of all things smelly. She is the digger of all dirt, the licker of all crumbs, and a dead ringer for the love of my life. She, more than anything, or anyone, in my life, makes me smile the most. I love her like I’ve never loved anyone, with complete and utter confidence that she doesn’t really deserve it. But she is unconditional with me, and I appreciate that to my core. It never, ever happens that way with humans. They say your mother’s love is unconditional, but how often did she make demands. Cleo only makes two demands: she wants sustenance and love. She tells me by resting her chin on my thigh and looking up at me funny. I can’t resist it.

I saw a review of this book in the New York Times Book Review about a woman and her dog called Pack of Two. It was by Caroline Knapp, who recently wrote a book about quitting drinking. This time she wrote about a mutt she adopted and now loves with the same kind of abandon she used to employ with alcohol. I couldn’t even appreciate this woman’s great idea to write about this incredible relationship. I kept thinking, fuck it, I should have written that damn book. Of course, it’s possible that I couldn’t come at this topic with the same fever as Ms. Knapp. I haven’t given up a damn thing in my life that I didn’t want to, which means I’ve never really hit rock bottom, which means that I haven’t really learned about sacrifice and therefore the unconditional of anything might still be unknown to me. It’s possible, then, that I don’t deserve Cleo. But she doesn’t hold it against me. She’s taught me quite a bit about sacrifice. She asked me point blank to take in her mother from the neighbors who were exasperated and wanting to get rid of the barky little pest. So I did, and now I love her too. And I knew Cleo would approve of me picking up that dusty little black rag off the International Bridge between Mexico and the U.S. at Ciudad Acuna. We named it Rio, and it turned out to be a beautiful black cat with eyes like emerald discs under rounded glass. In return for her adoption into the growing family, Rio rubs her body against Cleo and Patra, the mother dog, and licks their faces when they’re lying around on the kitchen floor.

I get to watch all this, and I get to experience my heart expanding every moment with delight and love for them. Someday, I hope this experience expands to allow me to feel the same way about my own kind. It’s not that I haven’t always held those ideals for myself, but I think I’ve learned something from Cleo, and that is that in the service of those in need, you earn the love for yourself and others that’s been waiting all along by the side of the road for a good, long ride.

Buy Pack of Two from Amazon

Pack of Two
by Caroline Knapp
Do you wake up to ticks or fleas crawling on your pillow and you’re not upset? Do you happily call your dog to bed at night and make her spoon with you under the covers like a lover? Do you tell her that she’s the cutest, most beautiful little pushkin in the whole wide world, and she rolls over on her back and her lips fall back from her bottom teeth into an upside-down smile just for you? Does your boyfriend gag when you talk silliness to your best little pushky-wooshky and let her lick your face after she’s just munched nuggets in the catbox? Buy this book. It will explain your illness and make you feel normal. This woman’s never been married, is not a lesbian, and now she’s totally in love with her dog, and if ever there were a more perfect union, this is it. Let us all marvel.