Doggy
Joy
“A
dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love
yourself.”
Josh
Billings
My
son, Jake, got a new dog last week. She's a long-legged shepherd mix
rescued from a “kill-shelter,” as he calls them. There is a group
of folks in every state, and, for once, Alabama is no exception, who,
when an animal has run out of time in a Humane Society shelter, take
it to foster until they can find a home. We drove up to Huntsville
last Thursday and picked her up from her foster parent, a young woman
who said she'd had as many as six dogs at once. The process of
adoption was rigorous, background check and several interviews with
both Jake and me, and she came with the guarantee that if you are
unhappy with the dog for any reason, they will take her back, no
questions asked.
Her
name is “Barley.” She reminds me of an old country boy I knew in
grammar school whose name was Harley. Like him, she is long and lanky
and eats like a pig at the trough. I honestly think if we just opened
the 40 pound bag of dog food and turned her loose with it, she would
do her very best to eat the whole thing. Such is the nature of dogs
who have spent any time hungry. After she's vacuumed up an entire
bowl, she circles Liza, who is a prissy, picky eater. You can imagine
how Liza the Princess feels about Barley the Hound. Her low, growling
rumble can be heard throughout the land. I've seen more of her teeth
in the last five days than I did in her first three years.
During
the work-week, my other son, Ian, brings his three mutts, Shelly,
Maggie, and Gigette, here for “doggy day care,” so all day long,
I'm like an aged sheep herder with five dogs of varying size,
seething around my legs everywhere I go. They rough-house and play
underneath me while I'm packing ebay items, and fight for place of
closest contact when I sit down to eat. I feel like the people in
other lands who bring their livestock into the house during cold
weather—just call me Heidi of the Dogherd.
The
upside to all this doggy goodness is that Jake is happier than I've
seen him in a year. My friend, Leslie, says “pet therapy is the
very best kind.” I think she's right about that. Also, have you
ever tried to sweep with five dogs pawing at the dustpan? So the
house work just has to wait—such a tragedy. And, I'm certainly not
going to put up a Christmas tree with an overgrown, still-in-training
puppy in the house; I can just imagine what a wet surprise that would
be! So I'm off the hook for decorating. What a relief!
We
welcome “Harley-Barley” to the family. And I'm sure Queen Liza
will, too...perhaps a hundred years from now. Maybe two.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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