The kids moved out, and rather than taking the opportunity to celebrate our freedom from a busy schedule and stay out late, or take spontaneous weekend trips, we filled the void of our quiet house and got a dog.
We’ve always had dogs. We are dog people—a dog family—but somehow, this dog is different. For one thing, we ordered him and paid a lot of money to get him when he was a puppy, which was quite different from all our other dogs … they came from the pound. Second, at this point in time, he is the only dog in the house, down from a pack of three.
So we have a dog, and he controls the house. Just as when the kids were little and simply going out for date night took a week of planning, we are back in the same situation. With a few subtle changes, that is. Before, we never questioned one another about who fed the kids; that was my responsibility. I’m guessing it was a holdover from breastfeeding that never went away. For twenty years, I was feeding in one way or another.
But where the dog is concerned, it’s a daily conversation and another round of the blame game. I recently saw a news report about a company that invented a computer apparatus that allows dogs to press a button to trigger a human voice speaking. Each button says things like “I’m hungry” or “Let’s play.” A pretty cool gadget, indeed. However, we don’t have it.
So we are reduced to bickering about whose turn it is and the best method to feed, walk, and train the dog, which is unfortunate because our start was so promising! And I’m going to take full credit for that good start.
Based on our experience with the previous five dogs … dogs that resembled a pack of wild animals, running and barking at the fence at anything that passed by … I vowed that we would do it right this time. And doing it right meant professional training. As soon as our little ball of fur was old enough, the two of us set out for puppy school. And we graduated with a certificate and everything.
Flash forward two years … our dog is behaving just like his predecessors … and I’m going to place full responsibility on my husband.
Panzer, the 100-pound Rottweiler, is not only running and barking at anything that passes by, but he gets totally riled up when a mother pushing a baby carriage passes by our house. This is especially troubling because at this very minute, I’m on an airplane flying across the country to meet our first grandchild. I better just admit it now. I will be the grandmother—insert Gigi or Mimi … I’m still workshopping my name—who thinks her granddaughter is the most beautiful, most perfect being that has ever graced the earth. I will talk about her unceasingly and show pictures of her to perfect strangers in the grocery store. I will talk about her so much that friends and co-workers will avoid me and run in the other direction when they see me approaching. I apologize now … but not really.
So, I’m sure you can understand my feelings of angst. It’s true that I love our dog, but hands down, he either gets it together or he’s out. I announced this to my husband as we were leaving for the airport and Panzer was reacting to my suitcase like it was a baby carriage.
My husband, who for some reason isn’t bothered by our dog’s poor behavior, responded that I am not to worry because he is going to take charge …
He is the Alpha Dog.
