Dog Day at My House

Muppet and Lobo

My day starts between three and four in the morning because the dogs are used to getting up at that hour so they can run out the dog door at top speed to squirt down the bushes and plants, but they're still groggy when I switch on the lights. Both of them lift their heads and stare ruefully at me, clearly displeased that I interrupted their sleep. That's annoying because occasionally when they decide to answer the call of nature at midnight or one, they don't mind waking me up, and I practically sleep- walk to the dog door to make sure they don't try to ram their way through it and wreck it. It's the kind that has a removable shield that I keep in place at night so they can't get into the habit of coming and going at all hours whenever they please, as they do during the day when the shield is off.

After stumbling around for a few minutes, I head for the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast for me. The dogs don't eat that early, but they make up for it the rest of the day, grazing constantly on the food I leave for them, or the food that's half-way to my mouth while they stare down my throat until I give it up, or the cat's food that they snatch if they happen to come across it before the cat finds it. For some reason, canned cat food is their favorite, although they do regard my cooking as a close second.

After finishing breakfast and watching the news, I head for the bathroom to start my bath and get ready for the day. While I'm bathing, both dogs, Lobo and Muppet, magically reappear in my bedroom, fast asleep again to make up for their rude awakening. They could be outside, but they prefer keeping me in sight. They know that most days I leave to pick up the mail and shop for more food, but they never accept my departure. If I took them with me, they would love it, as they hate being left behind. As you may have already guessed, the dogs are not well- trained nor well- behaved, and when they're in the car, they are unruly, sticking their heads out the window, leaping around, barking at anything that moves, and generally distracting and annoying me.

Lobo, who is still in his childhood, wants to play all day long, preferably with me, but he makes do with his brother Muppet, who is much older, too tired to play rough games, and very wary of him. While I'm preparing lunch or reading the paper or doing whatever else needs to be done, Lobo and Muppet race for the door and I hear them tumbling through. Soon afterward, I hear loud angry barks and screams from Muppet, who is being beaten up by Lobo, his younger, smaller brother. At first, when Lobo came to stay with Muppet and me a couple of months after Muppet's two older brothers died, and we were both unbearably lonely, I used to break up the fights to save Muppet, but after awhile I realized that as soon as I turned my back, the fights resumed, until Muppet had enough and came flying back into the house where he is relatively safe. I also realized that Muppet has learned to fight back, and because he's so overweight and lethargic, the exercise, trying to survive, does him no harm, and possibly a lot of good. Also, I realized that they have never drawn blood....so far.

Before noon, I take Lobo for his daily walk, or pull, as he pulls and strains on his long leash and drags me along. He sniffs for deer or other intruders who have marched around our property at night while we slept, he tries to get into the garage to visit Nisi, the 18 year old stray cat who sleeps on top of the oil burner or on the roof of my car if it's in the garage, or on one of the high rafters. When Nisi decides to come down from her perch, Lobo gets very excited, runs up to her and they rub noses and then we go outside again, followed by Nisi. She lies down on the grass or driveway and lures Lobo over so she can first play with him, and then scratch him. After a few scratches, we take off at a dead run, Lobo dragging me away to safety and down toward the road to sniff around some more.

Soon we go into the woods where I worry about encountering bears or moose that have been spotted on my property and in the neighborhood recently. I try to imagine what to do if we run into one or the other. Would I run for my life and let Lobo fight them off, or would I try to attack them with a heavy stone or big stick. I just hope it never happens. After 15 or 20 minutes, I drag a reluctant Lobo back inside the gate, take off his leash, lock him in, and go after Muppet. Half the time Muppet doesn't want to walk. I chase him around for a few minutes until he either lets me leash him so we can walk, or he starts snarling, running around in huge circles, baring his teeth and threatening to bite. I give up, let him out in the yard where Lobo is waiting anxiously to beat him up. When we walk, he is more compliant than Lobo, lets me determine where we're going, in what direction, and for how long. If Nisi is outside, she tries to lure him over so she can first play and then scratch him, but Muppet distrusts her and won't go near her, after having been scratched once before. She watches us spitefully as we walk out of her reach, but she's too old now to chase after us for long.

When the nightly news comes on at 5 every evening, the dogs often lie at my feet as I watch, and they fall asleep. After the news when it's my early bedtime, 7:30 to 8:00 PM usually, the dogs follow me down the long hall, settle themselves in their favorite places next to my bed, and wait for me to wash up, change, and go to bed. Sometimes Muppet decides to sleep in his large crate in the kitchen, or in the hallway near the dog door all night. Sometimes he sleeps in the middle of the living room floor. Lobo's alternate sleep sites are on the carpet under the coffee table in the small den, or in the computer room if I leave the door open, but most of the time, Lobo likes to sleep near me at night. If he goes to the den or the computer room when I go to bed, I find him fast asleep near my bed whenever I wake up. He walks so quietly I never hear him enter or leave the bedroom. Like the Cheshire Cat, he just appears, disappears, and reappears several times during the night, but he's usually there when I get up to start the day. If he isn't there, I feel betrayed and lonely, and annoyed. I think of revenge, but when the sweet little mongrel comes bouncing back in to see me, I forgive him completely, accept his moist little kisses, hug him tightly and tell him how cute he is and how much I love him. Muppet isn't as demonstrative. He doesn't kiss or like to be hugged, but he likes to cuddle up next to me and let me scratch him and rub his belly until I'm exhausted.

Dog days are unvarying, for the most part. Our routine is fixed and quite firm. We eat, we sleep, we play, we walk, we have even talk. They know exactly what I'm saying and both of them make sub-vocal sounds in addition to their barks, growls, and panting noises. I know they're trying real hard to talk, but it's a blessing that they can't, because I know they would be blabbing all day long, complaining about not enough freedom, how they hate being leashed, why they can't kill off the cat when she scratches them, why they can't go riding with me whenever I go and why can't they eat all day long, why they can't eat all the cat's food and why they can't chase cars and jump people who (rarely)come to visit me.

Sometimes I think how much easier my life could be if I didn't keep dogs. More often, I think how sad it is that I can't keep dozens more dogs. Two is barely enough, and when I've had three dogs many times, that didn't seem like enough either. If I were much younger and had a family to help out, I would certainly have as many dogs as I could afford and my family could tolerate. But I'm grateful that I learned to love dogs, even though it took me almost 30 years before I realized what I was missing, and to this day, I can't imagine a life without them, nor can I understand how people who are able to own and care for dogs don't do it. They don't know what they're missing.

Portrait of Lobo: fast asleep on his side, looking completely innocent, his furry toy pig still clutched between his front paws.