We humans love our dogs — sometimes more than we love our people. If we didn’t, why would we undertake a lifetime (the dogs’ lifetime) of feeding, and walking, and grooming, and visiting the vet, and scooping the poop, and playing “fetch” and “catch” and “tug,” and giving endless scratches and rubdowns, and paying for the shots and the food and the toys and the grooming and . . . Hey, tell me again why we do all that? Oh, right — because we love them, and because they give back unquestioning, unconditional, unending love and loyalty and devotion. And occasional misbehavior.

And barking. Endless, annoying, frustrating, nerve-shattering barking!

What do you suppose the vet would say if I were to bring our pooch, Dixie, in for a “debarkation” procedure? I’m not talking about getting off a ship or an airplane — that’s disembarking. I’m talking about having her bark removed. Obviously, he’d think I was insane, but after a day like yesterday, he wouldn’t be far off.

Fortunately for Dixie, she is really my son’s dog, not mine, so I don’t get to make those decisions. But being the one who’s at home with her most of the time, I have the longest exposure to her and her on-again-off-again displays of canine-ality (doggie personality). And she is definitely — in my unprofessional opinion — schizoid.

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It all started yesterday, as it always does, with her protective instinct kicking in. If anyone or anything — deer, rabbit, neighbor, UPS truck — comes within 100 yards of the house, she goes bonkers. She’s a medium-sized mixed-breed: part Staffordshire, part pit bull, part lab, according to her DNA test results. So one would think she’d be in attack mode when she reacts that way. But let her at any of these creatures, human or otherwise, and rather than trying to tear them apart, she’ll just lick them to death. This girl is a lover, not a fighter. So, from my point of view, the barking serves no useful purpose other than to make Dixie happy.

Well, after a day of listening to her saying hello to every passing living being, things finally quieted down in the neighborhood for the evening. Since two of our family of four (humans) were away for the week, and my son was working in his home office, I was enjoying a quiet dinner on a tray in my den while watching one of my favorite movies. Until Dixie started her food vigil. (And yes, she had already had her dinner.)

At some point in the middle of my meal (and favorite movie), Dixie suddenly began barking her head off and running back and forth between me and the front door. So I carefully set my tray down on my chair — HUGE mistake! — and went to see what was going on. Nothing. No one at the door, no package delivery from Amazon, not even a neighbor passing by.

And when I turned to go back to my dinner, Dixie was way ahead of me. By the time I reached the den — about five seconds later — she was in there, scarfing down what was left of my formerly delicious casserole. When I yelled out her name, she froze momentarily, then turned and ran by me like a rabbit being chased by . . . well . . . an angry human.

So much for dinner.

I scolded her a bit more, of course; told her she was a naughty girl; and disposed of the remains of the casserole. (I know she’s healthy, but I also know where else that tongue has been!) Then I got some ice cream from the freezer for dessert, and locked her out of the den for the rest of the evening. And this was pretty much how she spent the next few hours.

If we had a doghouse, she would have been in it — except that it’s been too damned hot outside for that. No matter what our fur babies do, torture is out of the question. And we always forgive them. How can we not? I mean . . . look at that face.

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And while all of this was going on, the cat was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle from her ringside seat. (She has a kitty condo, but — like most of her ilk — prefers the box from the latest package delivery.) What I wouldn’t give to know what she was thinking!

And today Dixie has been clinging to me like Saran Wrap, begging me with those huge, sad eyes to play with her, scratch her, slip her a snack . . . anything to reassure her that she is once again the most favored member of the household. So I did all of those things, one time each, and it still wasn’t enough. She has been staring at me all freakin’ day long! Do you have any idea how annoying that is?

She is so lucky I love her.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
6/21/24