And the duo “Most Likely to Pedal their Bikes into Open Car Doors but Look Fabulous while Doing It" is...

Since childhood, I have wondered about the old adage that dogs and their owners look and act alike.  Disney introduced me to this idea with its 1961 cartoon 101 Dalmatians, and as a six year old I became mildly obsessed with scene where Pongo compares dogs to their owners. I never noticed any similarities, however, between myself and the dogs in my life while I was growing up.

And then, I got Ruby.

Ruby is a 10 pound Cairn Terrier that I adopted during September of 2010.  Known for being spirited, intelligent and stubborn, Cairn Terriers are the epitome of “little dog syndrome" and make up for what they lack in size in toughness.  Though I prefer small dogs, I am not an Elle Woods “Chihuahua pooping in my Louis Vuitton” type of gal, so when I found Ruby, she seemed like the right type of dog for me.  You know, savvier than your average Yorkie.

And that’s when shit got weird.

Okay, let me digress.  As my best friends will tell you, I, like all people, have a number of traits that stand out.  I am an English teacher, and though I feel it is redundant to say that as such I am overly analytical, people still cannot grasp the idea that Barack Obama is an American born citizen, so I’ll state the obvious.  I am also adept at focusing, and this, when combined with my prowess for analysis, results in one neurotic lady.

But the big stand out Megan quality is this: since my mind is normally elsewhere when engaging in another activity - walking, for instance - I have cultivated a reputation as quite the klutz.  I’ve honed my skills in this area over the years, and when one adds my penchant for high heels and fearless enthusiasm for life to the mix ...well, you understand.

Anyway, back to the real story, the similarities between dogs and their humans.  During my first few months of co-habitating with Ruby, I observed her fondness for tennis balls and playing fetch.  Ruby didn’t just chase the tennis ball, she threw herself at it with gusto.  When it became lodged in between furniture she would lay beside it - for hours - waiting for me to retrieve it for her.  Nothing could distract her from that tennis ball.  Not a dog treat, not the neighborhood squirrel, not my shrill cries of “Ruuuby!”  There she sat.  Staring.  Trying to reclaim said tennis ball.  Ergo...

Shared Dog and Owner Quality #1 - Extreme Abilities to Focus

Ruby’s focusing ability has evolved over the last year.  Now a-days, if a ball gets lost under a night stand, we combine barking and panicking of the “rub your nose raw” order to the routine.  Therefore...

Shared Dog and Owner Quality #2 - Being Neurotic

Okay.  When I say I’m klutz, I don’t mean the occasional trip or slip.  During my junior year of college, I sprained my meniscus falling down a flight of stairs.  (However, I was wearing awesome shoes when it happened, so I’m stilling calling that one a win.)  I've spilled a plate of lasagna all over my bridesmaid’s dress at one of my best friends’ weddings (FYI: yellow looks terrible paired marina sauce.)  I’ve slipped while leaving a bar and fallen into the bouncer. (But recovered with a curtsey!)  Really, I could write a book called Oh, the Places I’ve Made Myself Look Like an Ass.

So, when Ruby began misaiming her jumps onto the couch and slamming into the side of it, I chalked it up to her growing puppy equilibrium.  (Don’t worry, that’s totally a thing.)   When she spilled the entire contents of her water bowl over the floor, I convinced myself she was just really thirsty.  However, when she tripped while running up a flight of stairs, multiple times last weekend, I couldn’t blame it on her short little legs.  I had to accept the obvious...

Shared Dog and Owner Quality #3: Inability to Control One’s Own Muscles

But yesterday, it got weirder.

Other than being brainy and klutzy, I am also known for my love of accessories, particularly scarves.  I wear them in all seasons and feel naked and less sparkly without one around my neck.  Two days ago, Ruby visited the groomer and came home sporting a jaunty little scarf.  Since she has never been a dog of the sweater wearing variety, I assumed she would wiggle out of it at one point that night.  When she fell asleep with it on, I figured I would find it shredded in the morning.  When I came home from work yesterday to still find it thrown “just so” over her neck, I figured I’d help a sister out and remove it for her.

And that’s when the panic set it.

First, we “sat and looked at the scarf until the human realizes what I want.”  Then, we whined.  Next, we barked and hopped.  We ended with a panicked yelp and twisty combo, totally suitable for “Paws on Ice” (“Coming to an arena near you!”).  I tied the scarf back on the Rubster, and she went back to staring out the squirrel outside the window.

Shared Dog and Owner Quality #4: Apparently, a Love of Scarves.

Once again, Disney was right.  And, once again, I’m spending a morning reevaluating myself as a person.  Having the same personality as a ten pound terrier just doesn’t seem right.