Sixty Days with Scott’s Sheepdog Named Megan

Megan pounced into my life in need of love and an urgent haircut. Her coat was so long that her eyes were hardly visible, and it was remarkable how she bounced around without tripping on her tangles. When the friend of a friend was headed to a rehab program, he needed to find a temporary home for Megan. I had just quit my job when I saw his post on social media. I always wanted a dog, but my busy work schedule and commitment issues got the best of me. Scott would generously pay someone to watch Megan for sixty days, and with the end of sixty days in sight, I commented on Scott’s post that I would absolutely love to take care of Megan.

I first conversed with Scott over an instant messenger, telling him about my personal life and where I live. He rang me after I gave my cell phone number. 

“Hey, Cheryl? It’s Scott,” he said when I picked up. “I just wanted to chat a bit more ‘bout your experience with pups. You know, like an interview for the job.” 

“Sure,” I said. “Frankly, I’ve never been a pet sitter, but I love dogs. I grew up with two high maintenance dogs named Pumpkin and Coconut.”

“Pumpkin and Coconut?” he repeated, then laughed so loudly that I needed to hold the phone away from my ear. 

“I named them when I was nine,” I added.

“Your parents let you name your dogs after a couple of fruits?” 

“Well…,” I drawled before realizing I was uncertain if a pumpkin and a coconut were indeed fruits or vegetables or nuts or what. “Well, you named your dog Megan. After who, Megan Fox?” 

“No,” Scott said, still chuckling. “What’s a name matter, anyway?” 

“Yeah, my parents didn’t mind the names. Pumpkin was a mini long-haired Dachshund, and Coconut was a Bichon Frise,” I said. “I fed them dinner and walked them after school. I also trained them to sit and shake my hand.”

“Megan can’t shake hands yet, so you’ll have to pardon her manners when you meet,” Scott said. “Your friend Sam said you’re the most reliable person she knows, and I trust Sam. I’d need to leave Megan with you next Monday if you’re sure about this.” 

“I am. As I said, I would absolutely love to take care of Megan.”

A week later, Scott arrived at my door with a large English sheepdog and a Caring for Megan Handbook printed on thick paper. I dropped to Megan’s level before introducing myself to Scott. It was rude of me, but she was too charming to resist. Megan’s body reminded me of a shaggy rug. Her coat was a pearly white with silvery shadows. Megan sniffed my eyes and licked my cheek. 

“She seems to like you,” Scott said. 

“Sorry,” I said, jumping up. “I’m Cheryl. It’s nice to see you in person. Want to come in?” 

“I can’t, I need to head out,” Scott said. He handed over Megan’s leash and the handbook. “Will you read this? I typed out everything you need to know. There’s an appendix with key phone numbers, like her vet and groomer. I packed up her favorite toys and her pillow, food, treats, and some cash for any other expenses. We’ll stay in touch, okay? It’d be great if you could text me photos.”

“Of course. Maybe a few video calls too.”

Scott set the duffle bag inside, then crouched to hug Megan goodbye. He was teary-eyed, promising her that he would be back in about sixty days. He avoided eye contact as he thanked me again for watching her.

“Don’t worry, Scott. I will treat Megan like a queen,” I said. 

“You better,” he said as he walked away. “I’m gonna need Megan more than ever when I’m back. She’s been my rock through it all.” 

Megan yipped and whined as Scott left. It broke my heart a bit, seeing the way they were being separated out of necessity. I closed the front door.

“Wanna watch a movie?” I asked Megan as I unhooked her leash. 

She ignored me and began sniffing around my apartment. A tall mirror opposed the front door. She stood in front of it for a while, staring at her reflection. I stood beside her. Dogs are not supposed to know that their reflection is them, but I believed that Megan recognized herself. 

She trotted into the living room and jumped onto my sofa. I sat beside her. She surveyed the space before looking into my eyes. She wasn’t sure what to make of me yet. She then collapsed and rested her head upon her paws, letting out another whimper. I stroked her back and cracked open the Caring for Megan Handbook. It was a lot to study. Being painfully familiar with buyer’s remorse, whether purchasing a pair of socks or renting an apartment, I worried that I would regret taking her in.

That was about twenty days ago. Now, we have gotten into a routine: morning walk, brunch, afternoon activity, dinner, and one final walk before bedtime. I’ve even taken her to the groomer for a bath and haircut.

“Shake!” I say with an open hand. 

She plops a heavy paw onto my palm, and I reward her with a treat. She is a fast learner. I haven’t texted a picture of the handshake to Scott because I want to surprise him in person.

“Alright, Queen Megan,” I declare. “I’ve cooked a side of scrambled eggs to complement your kibble.” 

As I dump the contents of the frying pan into her bowl, my phone dings. It is the recognizable sound of a new message on a dating app. I’m trying to date again, though the thought of dating sucks. Megan chows down on her brunch. I check the notification.

You have ‘liked’ me, and you instantly peak my interest. You have long dark hair and doe-like eyes. You are fond of poetry, reading, dresses, and dogs—which is great because I have Megan now. I am getting ahead of myself and imagine us shopping and reciting poetry and walking Megan through the park. My heart pitter-patters too quickly as I finish looking through your photos. I then realize that your name is Megan.

I look to dog-Megan and inquire: “Is it odd if I go out with a girl named Megan?” 

Megan is face down in her scrambled eggs. She will go home to Scott in about forty days anyway.

I open the app and send a message about how I like poetry and dresses and dogs too, and coffee—do you like coffee? 

You message me back by the time Megan is licking her bowl clean.

“Hot coffee, iced coffee, sugary lattes, cappuccinos… I love it all, except for instant.” 

I smile at your response and think this may be destiny. I invite you out for coffee this weekend and suggest a cafe with an outdoor patio, so I can bring my dog. I am unsure if it’s appropriate to bring your dog on a first date when your date has the same name as the dog; but, either way, I am not ready to leave Megan out of my sight. 

I am thrilled when you agree to meet me on Saturday. You’ve never been to this cafe, and I think it might become our cafe. I take Megan to the dog park for her afternoon activity and watch her chase a Golden Retriever for an hour.

Saturday’s sunshine grows brighter by the minute. I dress myself in a pair of stonewashed jeans with a chiffon blouse after trying on four or five different outfits. Megan climbs into the aftermath, a pile of designer clothes discarded on the floor. She seems to tune me out as I ramble about my nerves.

I arrive at the cafe early to situate myself at an outdoor table. Megan is in great spirits and pants lightly under the beating sun. 

We instantly notice each other as you cross the street. I slide my sunglasses on top of my head. You’re in a floral sundress that blossoms all around you, and you brush your pin-straight hair behind one ear before waving to me. My first impression is that you are strikingly cute. I stand up to greet you. 

“Cheryl?” you ask. 

“Yes,” I say, grinning. “Hi, Megan.” 

“Hi!” you say, inviting me into a hug. Before taking a seat, you notice Megan and gasp: “Oh, you brought her!” 

“I did. Like I said, I’m watching her for a friend, so I’m still a bit worried to leave her,” I say. 

You reach down to pet Megan as she sniffs your sandals. 

 “What’s her name?” you ask. 

“Well, it’s kind of funny,” I say. “Her name is Megan, too.” 

“No way!” you say, giggling. “A dog named Megan, huh? Why didn’t you tell me when we were texting?” 

“I wasn’t sure if it would be weird to bring a dog on a date with a girl who has the same name. Is it weird?” 

“What’s in a name?” you ask, taking a seat at the table.

“Good question, Shakespeare, what is in a name?” I say, sitting across from you. 

A waitress introduces herself and asks what we’d like. I order an iced latte, while you order a cold brew. 

“This might be even weirder,” you say, “but you have the same name as my mom.” 

This makes me laugh, but you don’t join in.

“Oh, you’re serious?” I ask. 

“Yes,” you say. 

“So, is it weird going on a date with a girl who has the same name as your mom?” I ask.

“No, I don’t think so. Like, to me, my mom’s name is Mom. I don’t call her Cheryl,” you say with a coy smile.

I nod. “That makes sense.”

The waitress brings our iced coffees in tall crystal glasses. We stare into each other’s eyes as we sip. 

When we leave the cafe, I hold Megan’s leash in my left hand, and you reach for my right. Megan springs like an elastic band as we encounter a polite beagle. You laugh as I call her name—your name—and tug on the leash, trying to manage Megan.

We start walking Megan together in the evenings. I learn about you as we walk. Your favorite color is periwinkle. Your favorite weather is a sunshower ending on a note of sunshine. You prefer flats to heels, lipgloss to lipstick. You tell your father everything. You learn about me, too—I like seafoam, stormy weather, high heels, lipstick, and my mom is my best friend. I fall for you quickly, because everything feels right. We watch Rom-Coms and laugh all night. We enjoy each other in silence. It is difficult to stay apart for too long. My friends tell me that we should slow down, chill out. 

I should listen to my friends.

They are insightful. 

I have fifteen days left with Megan.

We are sipping hot coffee when you say something startling. It is worse than being scalded by the steaming beverage in hand.

“I think we should take time to ourselves,” you say. “A break.”

“A break? Where is this coming from?” I ask. 

“We’ve been together almost every day since our first date,” you say. “I wasn’t expecting something this intense.”

“Intense? We’re just getting to know each other, drinking coffee, and walking Megan,” I say. 

“All of that has been great, but it doesn’t feel like the right time. You rarely want to come to my place. You’re kind of occupied with your dog. You can’t even say my name in your own apartment,” you say, exhaling, “because Megan will rush in and climb onto you during our dinners, movies…lovemaking.” 

“Megan will go home to Scott in only fifteen days. I thought you liked her. I thought you liked me.” 

“I do. I don’t know, Cheryl. I think I need space for now.” 

Yet you stay seated in my kitchen until you finish your coffee. We sit in silence, and Megan watches us from her pillow. When you peck me goodbye, you leave me with sticky lips and an empty coffee cup accented with your pink lipgloss. 

Megan is my shadow as I sulk. She follows me everywhere and even gives the stink eye when I check my cell phone to see if you’ve reached out. I stop checking my phone and throw a tennis ball for Megan instead. I realize we have one week until Scott returns. The thought of only seven more days with Megan is depressing.

All too soon, a knock at the door indicates that our time is up. I unlock the front door and invite Scott inside. Megan is overjoyed. She jumps so high, she can nearly lick his chin. Scott pulls her into a tight hug, but she squirms out of his arms and runs laps through my apartment.

“I’ve never seen her so hyper,” I say.

“That’s how I feel too,” Scott says, pointing at an excited Megan.

“If you’re not eager to get her home, do you want to stay for a bit? I’d love to chat and hear about your time away from Megan, if you’d like to share.” 

“You wanna hear about my detox and counseling?”

“Sure,” I say. “About anything, I mean.” 

Scott kicks off his shoes. “Have any Oolong?” 

“Yeah, I think so. Hey, Scott, watch this,” I say as I approach Megan, who is panting from running laps. With an upright palm, I command: “Shake!” 

She places her fluffy paw in my hand. 

“No way! You taught her to shake hands!” Scott exclaims. “That’s awesome, Cheryl.”

I brew our Oolong tea, while Scott shakes hands with Megan. 

Spending sixty days with Scott’s sheepdog has expunged any doubts: I am ready to care for a dog of my own; I am ready to pick a pup from the pound without buyer’s remorse; and I am ready for commitment.

And Scott? He will likely have some advice for me. I can already tell, it’s the beginning of an everlasting friendship.