Have you ever heard the old saying people look like their pets, or saw it in real life? Despite the evidence in my own family, I am finally convinced now this theory checks out.
We’ve had a handful of family dogs, including our most recent Bichon Frises. Bichons look like puffy, white clouds with legs and dreamy flag tails, complimented by three little black dots for eyes and a nose, reminding me of a mouth-less snowman. No one in my family really looks like any of the three Bichons we have or have had, unless you match their fur to my grandmother’s perfectly snow white hair. Before the cloud dogs, my father gifted my mother her first pet ever, a buff American Cocker Spaniel. That led to a whole crew of cocker spaniels, and when I look through old photos and spot the long, blonde ears and bright smiles on sweet puppy faces I can’t help but chuckle, because it seems to match the long, blonde curls and bright smile my mother sports on a daily basis.
My brother’s rescue dog is a terrier-something with scruffy blonde hair and a killer smile, so essentially my brother. You can guess which one uses more pomade. My cat is heartier than most cats, almost tall when he sits up and forming a giant, jet-black tube when he stretches out. Now that I think about it, my father can reach any tall shelf and still has some of that deep brown coloring mixed in with his silver hair. And, it’s never a surprise that when we can’t find either of them, they are in the home office, dad working while the cat supervises from the glass top desk.
Then there’s me.
And then there’s Smidge.
Smidge first enticed me with her black and tan markings. I often call her my little smooth-coated bean, in reference to her soft, short fur and how she tucks herself into a kidney shape. She has a short whip-like tail and rabbit feet, her large ears are somehow perfectly proportionate to her head. I think she looks like a standard “deer head” Chihuahua, think the Taco Bell dog but black and tan. She has short, black whiskers sprinkled on her muzzle and the cloudy scar on her right eye looks like a nebula. A little barrel-chested with a slim back half, she mostly struts, especially on our daily walks. I determined we looked nothing alike.
When I’m at home, Smidge finds a blanket within 10 feet to whatever I am doing and gets comfortable. The other day, though, I un-wisely munched on a stale Cheeto away from the table (much, much against my better judgment) and she remained by my side, but not where she normally rests on the sofa. During this dangerous game, I heard her tail hitting the throw pillows - thump thump thump – and looked over to see her ears shoved so far back on her head it looked like they were pulling her eyes open even wider than her usual “excited” eyes, while trembles of nervous glee emitted from her miniature body like a lost cellphone on vibrate. I looked her in the face and saw her little mouth curved in the world’s tightest closed-mouth smile.
And that’s when I saw the resemblance. I looked like my dog. Or, did my dog looked like me?
Six months in to dog ownership, I had seen Smidge’s personality shine before, but this so closely matched a face I make when I felt a certain kind of hopefulness. It contained an eagerness for all that could be good in the world; an excitement that is easy to stir and hard to stop; emotions so full they must be released in quivers and tail thumps, in foot taps and hand-wringing; wide eyes, not just for a single Cheeto but for all the possibilities the world has to offer and for the eagerness to see what scraps the universe will drop for me. It feels like a warm numbness, tingling fingers and an uncontrollable smirk, or a real, solid "maybe." However, at that exact moment it looked like my dog.
I ate the Cheeto and went to put the bag away. Smidge was underfoot by the time I left the kitchen, her tight smile melted to mild disappointment and then rapidly burst into full teeth and tongue when she heard the click of the lid on the treat jar.
