Finding an apartment in the city can be hard enough -- finding a place when you have a dog is nearly impossible. PNS commentator A. Clay Thompson explains why the pleasure of his dog's company makes it all worthwhile. Thompson is on the staff of YO! (Youth Outlook), a publication by and about Bay Area young people produced by Pacific News Service.

The superintendent of my live/work apartment complex wants to kick me out. It's all my dog's fault. I know it sounds like an unconvincing homework cop-out, but it's true.

The supe lives across the hall and, after only two weeks, is sick of Ruca's barking. She does bark frequently, sometimes sounding like RoboDog -- the canine with the automatic, unceasing, stuck-CD player bark. She also bites: kids, cats, other dogs. And she pisses on the floor when she's pissed off at me.

But she's my number one partner; my primary relationship. She's outlasted all my other lovers and many of my friends. In a world of temp labor, temp lovers, and temp tattoos, Ruca is a rock.

I've done the LOVE thing -- one year, two years, open, monogamous, adulterous -- and at this point I'd rather have a canine as a companion. I find that many of my twenty-something compatriots are also choosing cat, dog or goldfish over human-to-human love relationships.

You can't blame us. Not only have we watched over half of our parents' unions combust, most have us have already had some heart-rending, world-crushing breakups of our own. I have my own ignominious history of melodrama to counter my interest in human relations. Here's a brief sample, culled from approximately one billion stupefying hours of male/female absurdity:

"I never wanna see you again!"

"Fine, you won't! I'm outta here."

"You @$%## jerk! How can you leave me like this?"

Aahh, the inscrutable logic of love.

For all the hell she raises, Ruca's never put me through the insanity that "lovers" seem to visit upon each other with numbing regularity. The simple beauty she brings into my life outweigh the trials ("Oh! I'm really sorry my dog tried to devour your kitty!") she puts me through.

Watching her nobly sun herself like a lioness on the African Savannah never fails to make me smile. The fact that I can always make her happy is a relief. "Purina Dog Chow again! Ruff! Awesome! Thank you sooooo much!" Her immense pleasure at dog-life perks--walks, treats, tug-o-war--reminds me to appreciate what I have.

That's not to say that life with Ruca has been smooth. Ours is story of love in the face of unrelenting adversity.

When I first came to the Bay Area I left Ruca with my folks on the right-hand coast. I searched and searched for a place for us while sleeping on the streets, on friends' couches or in squatted buildings. I had a little dough but refused to spend it on an interim apartment; I wanted to have plenty of cash to pay a steep deposit on a dog-friendly abode.

The quest took four months. I found a slumlord who could tolerate man's best friend and moved into a low-rent, low-comfort hovel. After two summary rent hikes my fellow renters got made and stopped paying the rent. And I spent another four months looking for a joint.

When I finally found a landlord who would rent to man and mutt, I threw down roots like a redwood and set up a home base. A couple years later my string-pullers decided to give me the gong and sell the house. My two-month search for a new domicile nearly landed me in a padded cell.

The over-crowded, ever-gentrifying Bay Area is no place for renters with dogs. Landlords hawking the scummiest no-bedroom, no-bath, one-million-dollar-deposit shacks have their choice of a dozen yuppie tenants who don't come with four-legged companions. And I'm just some poorly paid, thrift store-clad punk with tattoos out the wazoo and a mean-yet-lovable mutt.

But I persevered and found the live/work space where I sit -- for the time being -- typing this homage to true love. If the supe gives me the boot, I'll utilize the "paper monkey-wrench" and meet him in small claims court (chivalry lives!). But if I must move again, I will.

Some people say I should make my life easier by getting rid of Ruca, but I pay these naysayers no mind. I can't fathom life without my canine companion. If we're again cast to the streets, so be it. Ruca and I have been together for the past seven years, and these little dilemmas just tighten our bond.