In Which Kisses Have Many Forms and Meanings

When I first brought Rosie home, I unpacked all of her stuff and filled her water dish with water and we looked at each other nervously.  I don't think I was thinking about her anxiety at the time, I was too busy being completely certain that I was going to ruin this little creature's life to think too much about how she must have been feeling about the situation.  In retrospect, looking at the pictures from that first day I can see all the fear in Rosie's eyes.  She'd just taken a long car trip with a bunch of strangers to a strange place, and she wasn't sure where she stood.  I was her fourth owner that I know of within the previous three or four months, and I'm not sure how long she was living on the street before she was found.

After she frantically sniffed around my apartment and I eventually pulled her out from under the be with the judicious use of treats, I decided to climb onto my bed, which was also my couch, and watch some TV. Lo and behold, the first thing she did was jump onto the bed, climb between my legs, lick her lips nervously, and finally curl herself up into a tight ball against me.  Luckily, I had a camera ready:

I took this to be a sign—the best sign.  Clearly, Rosie loved me; why else would she want to curl up in my lap?  I petted her and cooed affectionately, but my anxiety was not much alleviated, and I locked her up in her crate that night, too afraid to let her sleep in bed with me, and she barked and wailed and cried and I yelled at her.  It was not a great opening experience. 

Still, Rosie remained an extremely affectionate little pup, licking my face, friends' faces, and always wanting to be in contact, curling up next in any available warm lap, but especially mine.  She seemed to be pretty taken with people in general, and attached to me especially quickly.   Nonetheless, I questioned some of this.  One of my friends was convinced (as are a lot of people) that Rosie's licking had nothing to do with affection, but rather a desire for the salt on his skin.  I called her licks "kisses" anyway, because it's what I needed to feel. 

Now almost three years later to the day (Rosie's adoption anniversary/de facto birthday is tomorrow), I look back on that time with some curiosity.  On the one hand, Rosie clearly took some comfort from me, because she would not have curled up in my lap otherwise.  On the other hand, it's clear to me that Rosie didn't completely trust me, and I didn't completely trust her, and that, in fact, some of her attachment derived from that lack of trust.  She couldn't be sure I was going to stay, so she was establishing herself as particularly sweet and affectionate in a bid to keep her from getting shuffled off to yet another home. 

Now I live with another dog, little Maddy.  While Rosie celebrates her three-year adoption anniversary tomorrow, Maddy recently celebrated her four-month anniversary.  She is, on the one hand, an easier dog to deal with than Rosie was when I first adopted her—less stubborn, less loud, less destructive.  A lot of that has to do with the amazing work that Michelle put into establishing a bond with Maddy very quickly.  At the same time, Maddy is a maniac with the kisses. 

The moment that she sees me or Michelle or most people sit down, she will launch herself from across a room, flying through the air and directly into a lap.  This has caused more than a couple testicular injuries on my part, but it's hard to be upset with a little critter that just wants to be close to you, and thankfully she only ways ten pounds.  Once Maddy has settled in my lap, it is time for the licks.  Her little tongue darts in and out like a lizards until she has pulled herself toward my face and begun to cover me with kisses.  Pushing her away does nothing; the only way to get her to stop is turn my head away and up, as if a haughty gesture, and if she's feeling especially affectionate then even that won't stop her. 

Clearly, some of Maddy's ardor draws from the same insecurities that drove Rosie in her early days.  The moment Maddy receives affection, she insists on giving it back tenfold, and if she sees Michelle or me giving affection to Rosie or even each other, she is driven to throw herself in between and start giving licks.  It is as if she feels the need to constantly establish that she is a part of this family as well, and PLEASE DON'T FORGET IT! 

Maybe Maddy will calm down as time goes on and she becomes more secure in her place, like Rosie did, and maybe she won't.  Right now, it feels like such a defining aspect of her personality, and one that I would not like to eliminate, despite its occasional annoyances.  Whichever of the many reasons a dog may have for licking someone, one thing is for certain: they don't lick the faces of people they don't like. And as long as Maddy or Rosie is ready to give love, I hope that I am ready to receive it.