Lessons I Learned my 39th Year on Earth

Lesson 3:  Relationships are always more work than you think they’re going to be… particularly when one of the parties has four legs.

     I’ve decided that dogs should come with some sort of warning label.  They should say something along the lines of, “Beware.  No matter how much you think this dog is not going to jump on your Z Gallerie couch, use your hardwood floor as a bathroom, and chew up your favorite pair of Nine West pumps… he/she will.”      

     For at least three years, my daughter has been begging me for a second dog, and for more than a thousand straight days, I’ve held my ground like a well-trained Army General.  Not only have I said No, but I always cheerily remind her that she never so much as lifts a finger to take care of the dictator, named Prince Charming, that we currently have living with us. 

     Somehow the idea of having to pick up our miniature dachshund’s turds has always been enough to keep her at bay, but two weeks ago… after our second  break-in… she finally convinced me to adopt a Doberman from the shelter for “security” purposes.  Only now is it dawning on me that I might have been better off investing in a good set of motion lights or maybe some cheap surveillance equipment.

    High tech gadgets don’t spend the entire night howling from the garage.  They don’t bite your neighbors Pyrenees through the fence… requiring a visit from police, and more importantly, they don’t slip through the iron gate while you’re at church, take a nap on the yellow line of the street, and get hauled off to the pound.  You think I’m kidding?  I’m not.  I have the police report to prove it.

     Last Sunday, we pulled into the garage still basking from a great sermon.  Within thirty seconds, our lives had erupted into complete pandemonium.  The worst had happened.  Contrary to my words that Rocky Balboa was waaaaaay to big to get out of the fence, he had somehow escaped… thrusting us into the world of the lost dog.     

     Every cheesy kid’s movie I’ve ever seen flooded my memory bank.  Would we have to make posters and affix them to area street posts?  Do we walk around the neighborhood in the drizzling rain… yelling his name?  yes and yes.  My daughter wailed for a half hour as we tried desperately to locate Rocky Balboa to no avail. 

     At one point we even accosted a passerby with a similar dog.  We darted across a busy street in our flip-flops CONVINCED that she had stolen our prized shelter dog.  By the time we got close enough to see the can of mace in her hand, we could clearly see that the dog on her leash was not, in fact, Rocky.  Shouldn’t it have been a sign that a dog nabber probably wouldn’t be walking by our house parading him on a leash?  I digress.

     Thank God for the magnetic chip they implanted in his back at the point of purchase.  Once I regained my common sense from all the drama, I decided to call the Humane Society.  The lady on the other end of the line chuckled as if she spent hours waiting on my call.  “Hey…” she yelled in the background.  “It’s the t.v. lady.  It’s their dog!”  Apparently, Rocky had made quite a name for himself while living at the shelter. 

     Someone who lives in our neighborhood had scooped him up off the pavement, where he was taking a nap, and taken him to a family reunion in Cookeville before promising a safe return later that afternoon.  Not to worry… I thought!  The caper would come to a close once these kind people were finished with their chicken and dumplings, and sure enough… it did. 

     Who knew something so cute and seemingly harmless could be so all-consuming?  I can’t help but think that I should have seen this coming well in advance.  After all, our dachshund was nearly bald on both sides before I took him to the vet to investigate.  We’re already cramming Benadryl down one K-9′s throat two times a day for a skin disorder and saving up for a hair transplant.  What on Earth ever made me think we were equipped to join the ranks of animal planet?

     This week, I resorted to strapping a doggie life jacket onto him to keep his sleek physique within the boundaries of our fence.  He looks completely ridiculous running around the yard.  On the bright side… the jacket has a handle on top that allows us to carry him around like a cooler for outdoor parties and functions.  He’s become quite the conversation piece.   

     In the month he’s lived with us, Rocky has slowly started become like a member of the family.  Right now, he’s sort of like that drunk cousin you have to go bail out of jail a couple of times a year, but we’re working on his behavior and accepting his mistakes.     

     As he hauled all 60 pounds of himself into my lap over the weekend and fell asleep like a baby, I couldn’t help but think… dogs are like every other relationship.  They’re only as good as the work you put into them.  One day, he may get a chance to save our lives or protect our belongings.  Until then, we’ll keep making deposits in his love bank and hoping for the best. 

 
Suggested Reading:  5 Love Languages, Gary Chapman

http://www.5lovelanguages.com/