How to Detach Oneself from a Velcro Dog . . .

How to Detach Oneself from a Velcro Dog . . .

How to Detach Oneself from a Velcro Dog . . .


My dog and I are one.

It’s not by choice. At least not mine, that is.

She’s a cling on.

Which is why I find myself sitting at my keyboard attemptng to write a post about brussels sprouts, yet rather am consumed with thoughts about what to do with our über clingy pooch, even as she’s sprawled across my toes this very minute.

Upon our return from Florida last weekend, I dumped the contents of our suitcases onto the family room floor. We had packed lightly, so most of the clothes were dirty, and all were bound for the washer. Darks went here, lights went there, whites were flung way, way over there.

And my pooch watched me sort the laundry with the laser beam focus of a Rhodes Scholar.

Tia in laundry


Next, a trip to the washroom was in order, meaning that despite the fact that I was in a house devoid of all other humans, I felt compelled to close the door because my tilted-head dog was trying her darnedest to understand what was occurring when, frankly, it wasn’t any of her doggone business.

After my less-than-private bathroom break, I scanned through some recipes, composed a grocery list, recycled the junk mail, scraped petrified egg yolk splatters off of the granite countertop, loaded the dishwasher, and then took a moment to straighten my spices so that they were lined up in alphabetical order, their labels facing forward, convincing myself that creating spice jar alignment verging on OCD behavior was actually critical for emergency situations where a dish needed a dash of this or a pinch of that STAT!

Soon, it became apparent that, more than having a sincere desire to tidy up the joint, I was doing everything I could to avoid having to walk down the basement stairs to greet my long lost friend, madam treadmill. So I stopped with the nonsensical spice sprucing, and threw myself down the stairs.

And my pooch followed me.

She plopped herself down right in front of the glass-paneled basement door that I had shut behind me, resolute in her role of self-appointed guardian: all menacing thirteen pounds of her.

Forty five minutes later, after duking it out with various pieces of exercise equipment, I dragged myself back up to the land of the living only to see my faithful companion waiting patiently right where I had left her.

How intertwined the two of us have become. I love her to death, but frankly, it feels as if this relationship has gotten a tad unhealthily. A tad, I don’t know, claustrophobic maybe.

Am I alone in this plight? This person-worshipping dog phenomenon? This canine “me and my shadow” routine?

Should I tell her how I feel? Maybe a heart to heart about personal space and independence is all that’s needed.

Our dog is a Havanese. They’re often called “Velcro dogs” since they tend to select one member of the household as their go-to guy or gal, and then stick to them like, well, Velcro. Which is all fine and dandy, until, that is, it isn’t.

If I move to the kitchen to cook, she’s right there licking up any scraps I happen to drop.

If I get in the car, she calls shotgun.

If I go to take a shower, she’s right behind me, which, honestly, feels rather invasive.

And if I go to Europe over the summer. . . hmm.

What to do?

Perhaps I should take out an ad:

Wanted, house sitter/garden waterer/dog watcher. Must be able to endure 24/7 scrutiny in return for 24/7 affection.

Velcro provided.


Photo courtesy of: awesome

Written by Becky


  • Debbie says:

    LOL! That’s all I can say! Thanks for the chuckle this evening! I have a very independent but totally lovable west highland terrier who keeps an eye on me from his own perches throughout the house! As the saying goes…..”man’s best friend.”

  • Laura says:

    My family calls me Cooper’s Life Source. One eye is always trained on my location even if someone else is giving him attention. I’m told he waits pathetically by the door for my return. The only place he doesn’t follow me is the basement, those stairs are his arch nemesis. Cooking is a careful dance between woman and beast. And Snuggle Time is an after dinner must according to Cooper who paws at me before I’ve finished my food, I just wish he could control his licker! Tia is lucky to have you for her Life Source.

    • Becky says:

      Aw, I love me some Coop! It’s been too long since I’ve petted him. He’s lucky to have you as his Life Source as well, Laura. Oh, and that’s “Miss Tia” to you.

  • Bonnie says:

    You know, if I was eligible, I would answer your ad in a heartbeat! I would love to have “a little velcro” in my life!

  • Patty from MMC says:

    It also goes for cats, too. When they pick their person, they follow you everywhere. Our new senior cat Belle sits outside the bathroom door when Brad goes in and cries until he comes out. She sits like a queen on is bed when he’s on the computer. She literally was “cat-atonic” while he was in Chicago. And, I rarely am in the bathroom without Jack or Emma being there – they see me as stationary, which means a good time to be petted. I think this goes with the territory of being a pet owner.

  • But Becky, Tia Tia is the cutest dog ever born!!! How sorry can I feel for you with your Velcro attachment??? Loved your comic post on her! I promise not to tell her what you said about her the next time I see her. For a few bucks, that is. YLM

    • Becky says:

      Well, in the words of Lady Mary from Downton Abbey, “You’re not the first person who has tried to blackmail me.” Tell my Tia, if you must. You will not get even a dime!

  • Heather says:

    PS. I LOVED your Trump article!

  • Heather says:

    Are you kidding? You actually get to go to the bathroom without her? I have given up the idea of “going alone” and invite both dogs into the bathroom with me, then I shut the door. They get front row seats to it all. That’s why I stick with girl animals. I have to draw the line somewhere! 🙂

    • Becky says:

      Ewwww! I’m sure you’re not alone in your dog invitation, but I draw the line on the other side of the door, thank you very much.

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About Me:

Hi! My name is Becky. I’m a mom, a wife, a friend, a writer, and a compulsive thinker. Don't invite me to a spa or to shop the day away, but rather, make me laugh, engage me in interesting conversation, play a game with me, or give me a cappuccino and homemade vanilla bean flan and I’m yours ‘til the cows come home.

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