Everyone who knows anything about me knows that behind Dave, the Real Boy is my main passion in life. Falcor is not just a dog, he’s not just a companion, not just a family pet. This dog is freakishly human and incredibly needy. The Real Boy communicates emotions and transmits messages…technically he hasn’t yet spoken but I do receive telepathic messages regarding his love of carrots, his need for his tummy to be rubbed just so, his preference for Euro style pillows, and his concern over ever finding a replacement for that orange nubby ball. These conversations can, depending on subject matter, last for hours.
Whenever I leave the house without Falcor (which isn’t all that often considering how lax the Germans are on dog accompaniment) my heart is heavy. But nothing can compare to the guilt that I feel when my outings involve involvement with another Boy. Yes, it’s true. There’s another Boy who snuggles me, loves me and telecommunicates with me (although he speaks Czech and we really have nothing in common) on the regular. He is NOTHING, nothing, in comparison to my Real Boy, but he tugs at my heart strings and I know Falcor is seething when I come home with the scent of Oliver on me.
It happened once, ok twice, but I swear it meant nothing.