• Deb Trotter

When Your Husband Loves His Dog More Than You

Updated: Oct 20, 2020

Canine Wedding - December 27, 2015 ©Deb Trotter, Raised On Love


Her name was Arwen, and she was a beauty. Perhaps she wasn't Tolkien's definition of an Elfan queen, but she was certainly a queen in the eyes of my husband, The Dog Walker. Me, not so much.

Sure, The Dog Walker married me - so there must be something there, right? But sometimes I wish I looked less like a woman and more like a Wire Haired Pointing Griffon. I bet I'd receive a lot more attention that way.


When your husband loves his dog more than you, there's no way you can compete. As the saying goes, you're not even in the same league. I don't know whether that's a good or a bad thing, but I do know what they call a woman who resembles a dog, and it ain't pretty, my friend.

The Dog Walker certainly went overboard treating Arwen like a sweetheart ... his sweetheart.

If she groaned for some reason, he'd rush to her side and say, "What's the matter, Sweetie?" (I think he's called me Sweetie, maybe, two or three times since we've been married. Thirty-five-years, and no Sweetie Pie am I.)

If Arwen's feet were sore after a rough hunt, he'd gently place her in the bathtub, pet her, whisper sweet nothings in her ear ("That's Daddy's good little girl!"), and wash her feet in warm water with such tenderness I could swear she was made of rare, fine china.


Arwen was equally enamored with her "Daddy." The Dog Walker was her chosen Alpha. She followed him around the house constantly, never letting him out of her sight. He became her obsession, and of course, he loved it. After all, she was his obsession too. But, that's the rub ...

Arwen saw The Dog Walker not just as her Master, Alpha, and favorite human - she also seemed to think of him as her mate. If that was so, what did that make me? The enemy. That's what.

One night, when she and The Dog Walker had already gone to bed (yep, she slept with us), she growled at me as I sat on the bed and was just about to lay down beside The Dog Walker. I had become the major competition for his attention, and she didn't like it.

The Dog Walker immediately corrected her, "Arwen. No!"

She jumped off the bed and lay down on her floor cushion with her back to us. Pout much? I thought. But she respected me afterwards and never pulled a jealous stint like that again.


After the growling incident, I teased The Dog Walker unmercilessly about Arwen loving him so much that she wanted to marry him. I joked that I could just imagine her dressed in an old fashioned wedding gown and him in a tuxedo, posing for their wedding picture. That Christmas, I created a humorous piece in photoshop as a Christmas present just for The Dog Walker.

It just so happened I had a CD featuring vintage wedding photographs and found one I thought would be perfect. It was from the 1920s. There was just something about it -- the way they were sitting, the placement of their heads, and the perfect feel of The Roaring Twenties, a la' Zelda and Fitzgerald.

Arwen's harry legs, feet, arms, and paws were a far cry from those of the dainty lady in the original photo. It took four days, off and on, playing around in photoshop to get them right, but when I did -- Voila! The perfect dog-marries-human photo! (See the featured photo at the top of this post.)

The Dog Walker was thrilled. We framed the piece and hung it in his study.


Two days later, on December 27th, we lost Arwen.

The Dog Walker took her for a walk behind our house, beside the canal. She was her same happy self, and when she saw a woman walking her Golden Retriever in the distance, she took off toward them like a crazed bat out of hell.

When she had almost reached them, she jumped into the air in a flying leap towards the heavens and fell to earth in the same way Icarus fell into the sea -- like a fallen angel.

She was dead the minute she hit the ground. Dead, at only 8-years-old -- a far cry from the normal 14 to 15 years a Wire Haired Pointing Griffons normally lives. We think her heart stopped but we'll never be sure.

The Dog Walker mourned for a week. I hate to admit it, but I was sad too. She'd been a great hunting dog for him and a good companion. That was almost five years ago.


It wasn't long after Arwen died that The Dog Walker began to long for another hunting buddy. After all, as any dog lover knows, you can never replace a dog that dies, but getting a new dog will help to mend a broken heart.

He settled on a German Wire Haired Pointer puppy he named Roscoe. Roscoe worships him too, but not in the maniacal way Arwen did.

Roscoe is also happier and friendlier with me than Arwen was and definitely has a sweeter disposition. The Dog Walker thinks Roscoe is smarter than Arwen and is quite pleased with his performance during a hunt.

I don't feel there's any competition between the two of us for The Dog Walker's affection. Mind you, I'm not saying The Dog Walker loves us equally. Sometimes, I still think he shows more affinity towards Roscoe than to me. But there are all kinds of love, and I think I'm still in the running for the number one spot -- just as long as I can crawl into bed without hearing a growl everything will be fine.

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