Love Week continues on Larawrites.com!
Many of us have heard the oft-quoted scripture from First Corinthians about love being patient and kind.
I’m here to tell you love is also illogical.
Allow me to introduce … Amos.

Amos is my beagle. I have blogged about Amos before — namely when the little beagle Uno won Best in Show at Westminster and I begged people to please, please not run out and buy a beagle. I had myriad reasons. I still do.
Like, this past Christmas when we came home to find Amos had devoured our advent calendar — cardboard and chocolate and all. He’d left slobber-laden ruins strewn on the carpet like holiday snow. Sad, spitty, disgusting holiday snow.
When we first moved into our Ypsilanti home, Amos burst through the door and promptly peed on the fireplace. Of note: he’d been house-trained for years.
In this picture, he’s chewing on a toy that was once a full, stuffed, glorious Lion King that even roared.

These days, we call it Lion Shred.
Amos has chewed my kitten-heel Kenneth Cole shoes, Rob’s glasses, the television remote, and countless pairs of my underwear.
One time, he ate three used tampons and then, an hour later, threw them all up on my favorite chair.

We recently put a baby gate up to keep Amos from getting to the cat food in the basement. He chewed through it while we were at work, ate all the cat food he could, then pooped Meow Mix and splinters for two days.
Amos has been sprayed by a skunk — twice. He rolls in every kind of feces or dead thing he can find. He has eaten I don’t know how many fresh cat turds right from the litter box, has humped every pillow in the house, and he farts liberally.
In a word, Amos is disgusting.
Amos is needy, not to mention vocal. He whines when we have guests over. He whines when we eat dinner. He howls when he’s had to wait at the door for more than two seconds after peeing on all my flowers.
By all accounts, I should really not like Amos.
Not one little bit.
But the thing is, I love Amos. And Rob does too.
Amos is delighted by everyone and everything and, like so many dogs, he’s overjoyed to see us — even when it’s only been five minutes and we’ve been three feet away the whole time.
Almost always, Amos looks like he’s smiling.
And he lets us put bunny ears on him, even though he doesn’t really like it.

Every day is new and exciting and joyous for Amos, even if we’re doing the same old stuff we did the day before.
Amos loves to stick his head out the window when we’re driving, and sniff everything in the wind.

Amos has spots on his back that look like Mickey Mouse, and a white tip on his tail that flashes when he wags it.
In the winter, he likes to catch snowflakes and play in the snow.

When we drop food on the floor, he happily eats it. His ears are really soft, and his belly is pink and spotted where the hair is thinner.
When we visit our cabin in the woods, Amos loves to run and chase squirrels.

There are days when Amos shreds my last nerve. Days when I wish he’d just pipe down. Days when I wonder why the heck we didn’t just get a German shepherd or a lab.
But then Amos curls up on my lap, pretending like he’s half his size, and we cuddle and it’s all somehow okay. I love him and, in his doggy way, I’m pretty sure he loves me.
It’s illogical. But that’s okay. In this, I’d rather have full heart than a sound mind.
And to you I ask: what or who have you loved in a completely illogical way? Who or what is your Amos, so to speak?