Dogs

On Dogs

I grew up with dogs.  I loved my childhood dogs; especially Splicer, the little black mutt who despite his strange name was very smart.  He was special.  But I grew up in the country.  You didn’t have to walk your dog, you just opened the door and it went outside.  It came back when it was ready to come inside.  I first lost my affinity for dogs when I moved to the city and my roommates had a little devil of a dog, who nipped at people’s ankles.  He loved to stalk you under the table and latch on to your ankle with a quick snip.  He got me a few times before one weekend when my roommates had to go out of town.  I stayed behind.  It was Thanksgiving and the weather had turned bitter and cold.  I had to walk the dog and pick up its poop with a plastic bag.  I thought, I would never like to have a dog in the city.   I decided that since I was stuck with the dog, I’d win it over by showing my dominance.  So I took an oven mitt and played a game with the dog by grabbing his mouth.  He tried to bite me but couldn’t break through the mitt.  I simply held on until he relented and stopped fighting me.  It became a thing we did the entire weekend.  When he’d growl at me, I’d get the mitt out and grab his snout and hold on until he stopped fighting.  By the end of the weekend he was seated by my side on the couch, panting and obedient.  He never tried to snip my ankles again after that.  I grew fond of the little critter but I never grew fond of walking him outside in the freezing cold.

So it can be said that I never wanted a dog of my own, since becoming an adult.  I married someone who felt the same way.

But when you have kids they reach a certain age and they start begging to get a dog.  One of my daughters in particular is an avid animal lover.  She cries about not having a dog.

Recently my father came to visit.  He started in on how good it is for kids to have a dog. He worked my three children into a dog frenzy by taking them to a local pet store to look at puppies.  I was like, “Dad, we’re not getting a dog.  You’re only going to upset them.”  They have a picture of a sweet little puppy from the pet store as a screen saver.  At about this time a guy who works with my wife was planning to go out of town.  He has a puppy.  She’s about a year old.   She’s on a special diet and has all this medicine.  She chews up everything she can get a hold of.  So my wife, with a stroke of genius, tells me about how they are going to have to put the dog in a place while they go out of town.  She asked me if we should agree to watch the dog for the weekend and make our kids do all the work.  I knew it would be a challenge but I agreed it was a good idea.

We got the dog on a Thursday night.  It came with a long list of instructions.  The owners were very apologetic and kept asking if we were sure about this.   We had committed.  We could survive one weekend.  The kids went around the house picking everything up that could fit into the dog’s mouth, or so they said they did.  Stuffed animals were bagged and put away.  Small toys were put into bins.   The dog jumped up on me, trying to lick my face.  I pet her behind the ears and kept her from licking me on the lips. At first the dog was a nervous wreck, running all around, checking everything out.  The kids were all excited.  The time came for them kids to walk the dog.   “Keep him in the backyard,” said my wife.   Five minutes later, she looked out the back door and didn’t see them.

“Trav, where are they?  You’d better go out and look for them.”  So I threw on a coat and shoes and headed out.  I found them in the front.  We live in a cul-de-sac and the neighbor kids were playing on the huge snow mountain the plowers had pushed together in the center.  The dog was pulling my daughter around from kid to kid.  Everyone was worked into a whirl of new doggy excitement.  “What happened to staying in the backyard?” I asked.

“I tried,” said my daughter, looking near tears.

“If you can’t walk the dog without it pulling you all around the place, then we need to call (the owners) and have them come and get her.  Because that’s part of it,” I said.

“I know,” she said in her whiney voice.  My other daughter helped her and they brought the dog into the garage.  But it was soaked and muddy from the filthy snow pile.  I found some old towels and made them dry her off. 

My wife had tickets to a concert and I stayed with the kids and the dog.  I had the kids take the dog out one more time before starting our bedtime rituals.  They managed to keep her in the backyard this time.  But the bedtime rituals, which are already a pain in the ass, were wildly interrupted by the dog.  The kids fought over which room she would sleep in.  They kept calling her into their rooms. 

“Go to bed!  No one’s getting the dog tonight, if you all keep calling her.  Trust me, she’ll go where she wants to go.  Get in bed.  I will close your doors.  Now get to sleep!”  I tried to keep cool but I find bedtime makes me very cranky even without a new dog in the house.  With the added stress of the dog distraction, bedtime had become infuriating.  But I imagined that once the house settled down the dog would too and I could have some peace and quiet to maybe get some writing done.  But that was not to happen.  The dog whined at my door.  I finally opened the door and let her in and she kept jumping up on me while I was trying to write and licking my ear and head.  It barked at me. Then it left the room.  Five minutes later I heard my daughters calling me.

“Dad! Dad!” I came out of my room to hear.  “She peed all over the floor, Dad. I told you we should have taken her out one more time.”

I had them throw on some boots and coats and take her out again, while I cleaned up the pee.  At this point I had a clear thought. While this sucked, it was going according to plan. A devious smile crept over me, while I was on my knees soaking dog piss out of my carpet.  I went downstairs to watch TV after the kids settled back into bed.  The dog followed me.  She jumped on me and started to lick me.  I pushed her off and dried my head with my sleeve.  Finally the dog settled on the couch beside me. But when my wife got home and we went to bed, the dog jumped into our bed with us.  We got horrible sleep.  The dog moaned and whined all night long.  The next day it was just me and the dog.  I tried to write in the morning, but she came and jumped on me.  She then brought her toy ball and dropped it by me.  She barked, meaning she wanted to play.  I went downstairs and found wads of paper everywhere.  She found my son’s art supplies and ripped up some of his drawings.  The owners said to crate her if she didn’t let me write, so I put her in her cage downstairs.  She barked the entire time.  I let her out and she followed me everywhere I went.  Always under foot.  I decided to take her for a walk.  My dad happened to call when I was out with her.  He found it hysterical.  I was not laughing.  I kept thinking this was all his fault. That night, I settled down to watch TV after the kids went to bed and the dog was with me.  After a while I heard her climbing the stairs.  I hoped maybe she’d go and sleep with the kids.  But a few minutes later I heard the sound of plastic being chewed on.  I ran up the stairs.

“What have you got?  Spit it out!”  I grabbed her by the mouth and struggled until finally a small Lego piece fell out.  I put it on a ledge she couldn’t reach and returned to my stories.  A minute later there came the same sound of dog teeth working plastic.  I thought we’d done a thorough sweep of the house.   I stormed into the girls’ room and flipped on the lights.   They were both asleep. I shook my daughter on the bottom bunk.

“Get up.  Get up.  We need to get everything up.” I was purposefully being loud and abrupt.  They got drowsily out of their beds and half-assed an attempt to dig under their bed for any loose items.  After a moment of watching this, I got on my knees and dug under their dresser, pulling out item after item of loose plastic toys.  I piled them on the bed. “Find spots for all of this stuff.”

“I’m tired, Dad,” said my daughter.

“Yep. Having a dog sure is tiring, huh, kids?” I said, basking in victory. 

By the third night, my son was the first to admit he no longer wanted a dog.  “When’s this thing going home?” he asked.  By the last day even my animal loving, motherly little daughter admitted it was too much work to have a dog.  They stopped asking for one.  For now, anyway.