True Colors

I was watching a movie in the wee hours this morning, 'cause that's what I do when I'm awake at some ungodly time, due largely to the fact that my hours are discombobulated and I can't seem to get them back to normal (whatever that is). As my grandmother would say, "I go to bed and get up with the chickens." It's hell.
Anyhoo, back to the movie. I have no idea what the name of it was or really, what it was about. But I did watch for a while, and one of the characters was a psychiatrist...an older man. He was conversing (or conversating, as my niece would say...is that even a word?) with a young man, a friend as it were, and he was giving him advice on love, or more specifically, who not to marry. I only remember one cautionary sentence. "Never marry a woman who doesn't like dogs." I guess he was insinuating that a woman who doesn't like dogs would be heartless and cruel. Okay. Fair enough. I like dogs. I don't love dogs. My family thinks I loathe dogs, and that is just not true. I've never gotten terribly attached to one, I admit, but that's not to say that I couldn't. I just haven't. Yes, we have Fred, a once cute, scruffy little mutt, who is now beyond scruffy. He's old and his back is all lumpy, and he has a big red protrusion of some sort jutting out near his eye. And while I never officially bonded with Fred, I do care about him. I know his time on earth is drawing to a close, and I know I'll miss how he serenades me with his snores while I read the paper and drink coffee every morning. And back when he could still hear what I was saying, he did mind pretty well, which is why he was ever allowed in the house in the first place. And just yesterday I was looking at his nasty corroded water dish, thinking that I might actually replace it. Doesn't that show how damned dog-friendly I am?
Luckily for Fred, he has one devoted owner who loves him unconditionally, warts and all. He is Ron's dog. I dread the day he takes his last noisy breath. And sadly, I don't think that day is too far off. Ron will be broken-hearted. Fred is his buddy. His sidekick. His companion. He'll be lost without him. Christ. Will we have to get another damned stinky dog?