Sabrina Noble Columnist

For a lot of students, spring is the ideal time to buy a puppy. Not only is it warm enough to lock puppies outside until they get the potty training thing down, but it's a great time to let them frolic in the sun as an excuse to improve your tan.

Indeed, dogs are the only option for the self-respecting individual in need of a completely dependent but still animate companion.

I know that if I had enough money, I'd buy a dog this very minute. At first, it would seem like a match made in heaven; they like chasing squirrels and so do I.

I'd name mine Rowley or Pot-Pie or Flipper O'Rourke, and we'd watch "Will & Grace" every night and make s'mores - even though chocolate would always make him vomit under my pillow.

We'd go on picnics and snuggle up on cool nights, and he'd always take the pillow with the half-digested s'mores under it, because he'd be thoughtful like that.

Yes, it would be heaven for a while. Maybe even for a week or two. In the long run, though, it just wouldn't work out.

Yes, it would be heaven for a while. Maybe even for a week or two.

In the long run, though, it just wouldn't work out.

But it wouldn't be Flipper O'Rourke's fault, even though he was always a little clingy. It would be my fault.

It would be like we were just moving in opposite directions. He'd still want to go outside to use the bathroom every day, long after I'd gotten tired of opening the door.

He'd want to spend quality time together on walks whenever I'd prefer to read quietly.

And after a while, I'd get really annoyed that he never washed his own dish or cleaned the lint screen after taking his blankets out of the dryer.

I mean, I know every dog owner and puppy fight, even in a healthy relationship. That's just how it is.

But man, Flipper would never leave. He'd always be around and wouldn't ever go out with friends of his own.

I just couldn't deal with that forever. After all, I'm still a college student. I need my space.

Also, I'm forgetful. After a while - hoping he'd get the hint and get off my back already - I'd feed him only what he could find lying about. And I'm such an orderly person that he'd be left eating notebooks and my extensive collection of turquoise angels, which would make me positively livid.

I'd spend all day at work and in class while he was left to look longingly out the window, fuming over my absence.

Sometimes he'd bark when I'd get home and I'd pat him on the head, but it wouldn't be heartfelt. And we'd both know in those awkward silences that we were only going through the motions.

Because I'd no longer let him in my bed at that point, I'd probably accidentally step on him in the middle of the night, and then he'd yelp and bite me. And I'd yell, and we'd both go to opposite corners and glare at each other until we fell back to sleep.

Right about that time - I guess about mid-April - it would start to get really bad.

Gradually, he'd go crazy, lashing out not only at me, but also at small children and the elderly.

He'd chew through metal cages and grow to the size of a small antelope, foam dripping from his disproportionately large and fearful jaws.

One day, he'd run away and turn up months later in Sabino Canyon, where he'd be so hostile that the park service would mistake him for a mountain lion and blow him out of the sky (because by that time, he would have learned to climb trees and would have developed a tactic of pouncing on unsuspecting hikers).

And that would be the end of Flipper O'Rourke. I'd probably always blame myself; he would haunt my writing for years, and I'd become withdrawn and pensive.

Yes, I'm sure that's what would happen if I were to impetuously buy a dog at this stage in my life.

I'm just glad I realize that when you own a dog, you have to accept a certain amount of responsibility.

So many people don't, and that's why stories like Flipper's are all too common. That's why I'm telling you this.

I can only hope to God you're listening.

Sabrina Noble is a senior majoring in English and creative writing. She is a "dog person" who can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.