Clingy Dogs

I live in a family that lives by the creed, “Love me, love my dog.” I don’t buy it. Why do I have to love their dogs? They are always going off somewhere and leaving their dogs for me to take care of. Are they proving to themselves or me that I love their dogs? Not a chance.”

I was stacking wood with Sweet Al and our daughter. We were fighting off the dogs under foot the whole time.  I said to them, “What have you done to your dogs that make them so clingy? They have to be with you all the time.”

They don’t know why, but I know.  They feed them treats and talk baby talk to them. If I was treated that way, I’d be clingy, too.

I said to them, “Can’t we just put the dogs in the garage. We can’t get any work done. You don’t correct them, you just say, “Don’t do that, go away, be good and I’ll give you a snack. That’s not cutting it.”

“And why is it all the dogs on the Lower Blanco hang out on our property? Because, some one must be feeding them treats.” I looked at Al just grin and play dumb. “At any given time, there are at least five dogs on our property. We only own two. The owners don’t notice their dogs are gone and their dogs stay around for a few days. After three days, I can’t take it, their ribs are showing and so I feed them, too.”

Our son-in-law says, “If our dog comes over, don ‘t feed her, she’ll keep coming back.” His dog walks two miles when she can get out of her pen. There’s a dog party going on all the time. I should be handing out funny hats and noisemakers.

I was awake when I had this nightmare. We left for our weekly trip to Pueblo. The Southern Colorado Cluster Dog Show had also come to town with their top dog show. Owners and dogs were from all over the country to compete in breed and sporting shows, obedience and rally competitions.  And guess what? They were all staying at the hotel where we were staying.

As we were waiting for the elevator doors to open, you guessed it. Three dogs were sitting on the elevator looking at me. Our one daughter laughed and said, “This is someone’s dream.” She looked left at her sister, and then she looked right at me. “Or someone’s nightmare.”

“You better believe it. They’ll be sleeping on the beds tonight.” I rolled my eyes and looked at Sweet Al and our daughter.  They were talking to the dogs and petting them.

The dogs were all fluffed up, cleaned-up and leading their proud owners around by a leash. I could see the invisible sign on the owners, “Love me, love my dog.” The dogs were everywhere, in the lobby, prancing down the hallways and in the rooms.  They were yipping and yapping, barking and growling all night.

I said to our kids, “This is too much for me. The dogs have followed me to Pueblo.

When we get to the room, the two of you need to wash your hands.”

They looked at me with this questioning look, like “Why?”

On the flipside our daughter works at a place of business where the customers bring in their pets. She is thrilled. She knows the name of every dog that passes by her register. They wait at the register while their owner shops. She gives them a treat. She might forget the owner’s name, but never the dog’s name. She loves Wilson, Uno Pippi, Wally and others I’ve forgotten. And it’s the best day ever for her when they come in.

I said to her, “I’m writing an article on dogs. Tell me about the dogs who come into your work?”

She lit up like a Christmas tree and told me how many dogs came in that day. She has offered to take care of them if anything happens to their owners. I told her, “Absolutely not. They will end up at our house like all the other dogs on the Blanco.”

Whiskey, Sweet Al’s dog is clingy and constantly by his side. I made a place in the house she can sleep. I swore up and down I wouldn’t let her in our bedroom.

She scratches at the door until she’s lying on the floor next to him on his side of the bed. Next she’ll be sleeping in our bed with her head on my pillow and I’ll be sleeping on the floor.

Final Brushstroke! My Sweet Al is too old to learn new tricks and his dog can’t live without him. Our son says, “Give it up, Mother. He’s only been with you fifty-five years. He’s had a dog his whole life, he’s not going to change now.”