After living together for going on 6 years, I’ve had a revelation:  my dog is me. Those of you who know my family may think I’m referring to Bobo, our pug.  He is lazy, fat and generally clueless (wait a minute . . . maybe Bobo is me, too . . .).  But it’s Wilson, the little white fluffy dog, in whom I have seen myself.

Wilson’s characteristics:

1. Looks cute (well, we each have our moments), acts grumpy
2. Likes the thought of meeting new people, but on his own terms
3. Loves snacks
4. Engages in destructive behavior when bored
5. Has bad hair days with regularity
6. Hates crowds of people (unless there are snacks)
7. Loves going on hikes
8. Enjoys a good spa day (until it’s time to do his hair)
9. Teases his housemates (until the cat comes back at him, then he retreats)
10. Every so often, with a devilish look in his eye, ignores all the rules

I don’t know what this says about him or me, but it sure explains a lot about the little human-like monster we’ve been living with.

I’ve seen the enemy, and he is me.