Dear Truth,
I’ve been dating a great guy, Frank, for several months now. We’re both in our 40s. The relationship has real potential, but one thing bothers me. Frank is obsessed with his dog Lola, a very sweet boxer/beagle mix. Frank walks Lola at least four times a day. He drives home to walk her at lunch even though Lola has a doggie door.
Frank is constantly aware of Lola’s location and mood, to the point that he’s distracted when we sit down to eat and talk at home. You can guess his favorite topic of conversation.
Now that we’re spending more nights together, it’s becoming a real issue. And now Frank is talking about getting a second dog.
I like dogs, but I find myself rolling my eyes a lot. I’ve shared my concerns, but this doesn’t feel like something Frank can easily change. Thoughts?
—Playing 2nd Fiddle to a Dog
Dear Meg Griffin,
When anyone is, let’s say “overly invested” (you say obsessed), in any topic, it becomes tiresome. That can be obscured by the universal worship we invest in our pets, but what you’re describing is an affectation bordering on obsessive-compulsive disorder. I understand that many people have imbued in their animals the rights and privileges of actual human children, but this is neither good for the human, nor good for the pet. Frank seems to be one of these people.
And let’s not forget the animal in all of this. Dogs want to be treated like dogs. Not to get all Cesar Milan on your ass, but they require boundaries, discipline, and exercise, and above all, an understanding of the pack hierarchy, and their respective place in it. These are the things that make dogs happy. Treating their animals like children is what makes certain humans happy. And that’s just bad dog ownership.
Frank made a commitment when he adopted Lola to give her the best life possible. Not only is he reneging on that promise, he’s also, more importantly it has to be said, letting it get in the way of real human interaction. Here comes the Truth: there is something a little off about Frank. You might ultimately accept this eccentricity but, without therapy as to why Frank is investing so much of his emotions into a domesticated animal, albeit a beloved one, your road to a fully adult relationship is unclear. The problem is that they’re both in recovery, and they’re friends—other than me—are also in recovery. Socializing with them almost always means socializing with at least a half dozen—often more—of the people in their recovery group. The conversation often feels like an extension of the group, leaving me with little to contribute.
How do I tell my two good friends that I would prefer to hang out with just them?
Dear Truth,
My employer transferred me from Chicago to Tampa last year. I had no friends or family in the area—and no lesbian friends—so I was happy to meet two wonderful women who live just a couple blocks away. They’re smart, funny, and we have a lot in common.
—Sober Girl
Dear Kelly Osborne,
Any successful investment professional will tell you that the key to fortune is diversity. The same can be said for your portfolio of friendships. Honestly, if the Truth’s experiences are an indicator, separating your recovering friends from their recovering friends is going to be a complicated thing. This is their safety net and, wisely, they’re loathe to let it go. And if it is providing a buffer to the addictions with which they are successfully coping, it’s hard to see how that conversation is going to go well.
So accept the group and have the fun that is available in that context, but continue to diversify your friend base. It’s easy to exhale and say “this is my group of friends” but a life lived fully contains friendships of all complexions. This is an excellent opportunity for you to broaden your horizons and the influences you allow into your worldview.
