My dad and I talk dogs a lot. He and his dog, Linka, are constantly training for the rally obediance trials they do, and of course Prada and I are always working toward new body confidence goals. Needless to say, we never run out of things to talk about, and it's great to have someone to bounce ideas off of.
That's one of the best things about having a dog--I immediately have something in common with any other dog owner I meet.
And of course there's the pleasure and satisfaction anyone who has adopted a dog has.
But having a special needs dog changes things. Not only do I have something to talk about with any other dog lover--which, as far as I'm concerned, is anyone worth talking to--I also have had a whole new world opened up to me.
That sounds way too sappy, even for me.
How about this?
You know, having a tripod, is like, cool and stuff, because I never really thought before about how, like, it would make me a nicer, more compassionate person. Dude.
(Okay, let's pretend I never wrote that. That's atrocious.)
In all seriousness, though, having a "different" pet has made me re-evaluate the importance, even the necessity, of being physically normal. Normal is what is. My normal, and my normal with Prada, is different than other people's normal. That would still be the case if she had four legs. Or if she were the size of a Pyrenees. Or if she were blind, or petrified of squirrels.
So, I figure that makes Prada no less not-normal than any other dog. And maybe, by extension (it's a stretch, I know), that makes me no less not-normal than any other person.