Dogs are funny people. I know this because, as I have mentioned before, I live with two of them. They thrive under routine and I swear they wear little watches. I don’t know where they keep them, (suddenly I realize the thought is too ill-considered to fully conceptualize- SCARY). Or maybe some portion of their brain actually acts as a sundial… That’s a theory I have to work on. Unfortunately, their clocks are not always in sync with each other’s, or mine, but that’s beside the point.
Their routine has changed a bit after my father-in-law moved in. Now they get up early each morning (even slug-a-bed Ellie who used to lie in bed long after ten and give you a one-eyed grumble when you got out of bed as if to say, “No, I don’t wanna get up yet. I’m tiiiiirrrrred.”) But now there is a reason to drag her sorry butt out of bed. As the saying goes, ‘The early bird gets the worm,’ or in this case, the toast. My FIL, who gets up anywhere between six and eight every morning, has the same breakfast every day. Milk and toast. The entire time he eats this, he has two dogs sitting beside him, staring up at him with big, googley, watery eyes. They are waiting to partake of the toast, which is especially good since he uses not only butter, but also grape jelly, and they have discovered that grape jelly is DE-LI-CIOUS!
Which leads me to my first tangent. The other day I was partaking of some toast, or rather bruschetta. Tomato basil bread, sliced thinly, toasted crisp, and adorned with kalamata olive spread, feta cheese, and a roasted red pepper. A culinary delight. Ellie (who we still call Ellie Bellie from her pudgy puppy days and I also often call Ellie Bean- tangent #2 I know- a tangent inside a tangent- I have pretty awesome tangential powers….); as I was saying, Ellie, who navigates her world primarily by smell, but almost as often by sound (which is how she knows when you are eating raw carrots- one of her favorite treats- because if you are crunching it MUST be carrots- not raw red peppers (blech!) or radishes (ew!)- see there- I did it again- tangent 2.5). Okay, so where was I? Oh, YEAH TOAST, (thank you Heywood Banks and my son who made me LOL over that….), SO back to toast, and Ellie. Ellie, hears the sound of someone munching toast; Maddie is of course oblivious, but she has learned to trust Ellie’s instincts, and therefore is quite willing to follow her partner in crime to the kitchen, whereupon the two of them seat themselves beside me and proceed with the googley, watery eyes.
Now let me tell you, there is just no explaining to a dog (or two) that there are differences between kinds of toast. They’re not having it. Pretty much the conversation goes like this:
Me: You two won’t like this; this is not like Grampy’s toast.
Them: Give us the toast! Give us the toast!
Me: You don’t understand, this is not toast, it’s bruschetta.
Them: Whatever. Bruschetta, schmuschetta, give us the toast lady.
Me: For the last time- bru-sche-tta! Not toast!
Them: Fork over the toast lady and no one gets hurt!
Naturally, in an effort to convince them this is NOT what they are coveting, I break off a small piece for each of them, removed the pepper, feta, and olive spread (by way of licking- they’re dogs they don’t care), and pass it over. Ellie, who is determined never to chew anything, sucks it up like a vacuum and in less than a millisecond it’s gone and she is none the wiser. Maddie, of the more discerning palate, not to mention actual mastication, almost instantly spits it out onto the floor. Her expression is clearly disappointed and a tad bit miffed. She was expecting butter, a little grape jelly, sweet rapture with just a touch of salt. She got vegetables. Like any small child she was not happy. (Try giving a kid Brussels sprouts in lieu of a cookie and see what I mean.)
No matter, Ellie the vacuum had already sucked it up and by the time Maddie considered giving it another go, it was already long gone.
Okay, current tangent over, now back to the routine. After a leisurely breakfast with Grampy, Ellie immediately crawls back into bed until a later time. Somewhere between seven and nine I get up (more often than not, Ellie still gives me the one-eyed grumble and falls back onto the bed). I start my day, which of course begins with coffee. When the dogs hear the clanking and thumping of coffee preparation, they begin to get antsy. They know this means deck time. I will take my coffee and laptop out onto the deck (spring, summer and fall anyway) and commence to peaceful, uninterrupted writing time. With the exception of the two nitwits gallivanting all over the yard, thundering across the deck, and barking at the birds.
Maddie, who everyone knows is a complete, unadulterated coward (if you haven’t read Maddie vs. the Grill, it’s a must read on the background of the epic proportions of Maddie’s cowardice- go ahead read it, I’ll wait….Da de dum, da de dum, da dee dee dum dum dum dum; done yet? Okay, moving on). Maddie, who is afraid of everything including, but not limited to, inanimate objects, suddenly becomes a ferocious beast when confronting birds. Especially robins. (I am still waiting for the day when one of the Hitchcock birds comes up against Maddie, I only hope to have a video camera available when it happens.) Now keep in mind, this is a dog that quakes in terror at the sight of a: other dogs especially puppies, b: the grill, c: thunderstorms, d: fireworks, e: anything (and I mean ANYTHING) that is out of place in the house ie: a pair of shoes where they don’t belong or the sleeve of a jacket rippling in the breeze when the a/c or furnace comes on.
Which brings me to yet another tangent. One night Ellie (who is generally fearless, but somehow this night was channeling Maddie), was sleeping at the end of the bed which is her habit. At some point she picked up her head to turn over and saw something that scared the living heck out of her. All of a sudden, she jumped up, ran to the head of the bed plastering herself against me, growling and shaking all over. Naturally I assumed she had seen something outside the bedroom window (which she can see from her position on the bed). I went to the window and looked out, half expecting a boogeyman or a peeping tom, but found neither. Nor did I see a robin. While I was busy looking for whatever it was that had startled her, Ellie was quickly degenerating into a full on panic attack. She was walking in circles, still growling, still shaking, and still staring at the end of the bed.
Finally, I turned on the light, trying to see what it was that was freaking her out. Her panic in no way decreased, but as I stared at the foot of the bed and the blanket chest just beyond, it finally came together for me. Normally, each night when we go to bed, I lay the bed spread over the blanket chest. This particular night I had added something extra out of pure laziness. The clothing I had removed. On the top, sat my bra, a minor mountain in silhouette. I picked it up to show it to her saying, “Is this the problem?” She practically fainted. I thought I would pee myself laughing so hard. I was tempted to throw it at her, but as I had no desire to clean her pee off my pillow, I held back. The bra went in the hamper, Ellie cautiously made her way to the foot of the bed, eyeing the hamper suspiciously every so often, but order was restored.
Okay, tangent over (worthwhile one though, right?), back to the birds.
So there I will be, calmly sipping coffee, trying to get my competing thoughts focused into one general direction, and there’s Maddie, yanking and pulling on her leash, barking, growling and foaming at the mouth. It’s distracting. It’s annoying. It’s what Maddie does. And naturally, Ellie, who is the quieter of the two and not much of a barker, inevitably follows her idol’s example. Now I have two nitwits screaming up and down the yard, in an otherwise peaceful venue, (the neighbors must love me), while the birds, oblivious to the fixated behavior of the dogs, hop about the yard, pecking at the grass and doing whatever birds do. QUIETLY.
After a few hours of this, (no I do not have that much patience, but I really do love to be outside, regardless of the idiocy of the two canines I share an abode with), I head back inside. The dogs find a spot and collapse for several hours (hey, barking at random birds for three hours is hard work, you don’t believe me, try it sometime). This is the only peace you will know in a day; when the dogs are sleeping. Of course this is generally accompanied by doggie dreams: the foot kicking, spine twitching, muffled yips and occasional growls chiming in. I think they’re still barking at birds…
Eventually six o’clock rolls around, dinner time. Somewhere around five thirty Maddie will start getting antsy. I think she is convinced that this is the day I will finally forget to feed them. She paces neurotically, and you can tell she is worrying, stewing about how she can get the stupid human into the kitchen and help her find the food and show her where to put it. She paces from the living room (or the office depending on where I might be), to the kitchen, and back again. Over and over and over. She has worn a track into the carpet. I can almost hear what’s going on inside her brain.
Maddie: What if they ran out of food? What if she forgot it’s supper time? What if she doesn’t remember where the food is? Or my bowl? Oh my God! How can I tell her? HOW can I tell her? She doesn’t speak dog… What’ll I do, oh woe is me, whatever will I do! I shall starve and then who will protect her from all those birds!!
When I finally do cave in and feed them, often a few minutes early because I can no longer tolerate Maddie’s incessant whining and pacing, there is much rejoicing, leaping and spinning. Celebrating with interpretive dance. And the Hallelujah chorus is sung. The routine prevails. All is right with the world. Life is good.
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