WHAT NOW?

Presidio Sentinel San Diego, April 2013

  WHAT DOGS THINK

By Laura Walcher

There is that look I get when Barney doesn’t get the look I

give.  But I understand it completely: it means, “NOW what language are you speaking?”  That’s what he “said” when I informed him that he’d be out-ed in this column. 

You remember Barney, our bratty cairn mix?  He’d been some wild puppy, but now that he’s he a senior citizen, he appears to be wiser; except for certain breeds of fellow canines, and the parking ticket scooters, he picks his battles pretty thoughtfully. For instance, he ‘s sensibly decided that he actually can’t catch the squirrel that has a serious head start. 

Not that he’s forgiven those enemies, noted above.  His unrelentingly longing to kill boxers, Dobermans and select others continues unabated, and of course, the kill-prize of all would still be the parking-ticket cab.  Goin’ bananas time!  His hysteria over a passing ticket truck is something to behold.   When I’ve finally managed to prevail, tho’ we’ve stopped traffic in every direction, he’s angry, resentful:  “Don’t go thinking I’m going to give up just because you’ve won this time. “

Because he really is just a dog (oh! forgive me!), his main motivation in life is the relentless search for sidewalk snacks - - both putrid and on occasion, fresh-ish.  Relentlessly, I monitor his

every move, of course, but if I blink, he’s on it. Then, to his

chagrin, I’m on him, and I normally win, though it might take wrestling him to the ground.  But I do win, and when I do, here’s what I get:  “What is your problem?  You never let me do ANYTHING!”

Our clan comes to visit:  “OMG! OMG!  It’s MJ and Isabelle! They’re here to see me! I love them better that anybody, even HER.” (Read that, ME.)

Yet the clan’s not always around, and then, it is my turn.  Although

Barney’s grown hard of hearing, he soars from his slumber and twirls through the halls at my merest move towards the door. Oh, the desperation! “OMG. OMG.  Am I going with her?  CAN I go with her?  She won’t leave me, will she?  Will she?  WILL SHE?”

The longing in his eyes is palpable.

Not so at Bob Walcher’s merest move. The dog’s immobile, eyes, half-mast: “HooooooHummmmm, Why would I want to go anywhere with him?”  (While quite clear, this is indeed puzzling, given that Mr. Walcher feeds him.)

“Y’know, “ says Barney, “I actually know better than you how to deal with this issue.”  That’s the look I’m getting.  I’ve put a tin-foil pan down in the tiled floor with the delectable remains of dinner, but as he tries to get into every corner, it slides around the kitchen.  He picks it up and transports it to the carpeted living room, where it stops sliding so he can get each and every scrap, no problem at all.

Mr. Walcher thinks I’m over-thinking this one.

O.K. O.K.   I’m just sayin’ ….