I have a love-hate relationship with my dog. Yes. I said "my dog". Today, I am feeling benevolent towards the creature because she hasn't caused too much trouble lately, but only by the skin of her teeth. When she does something bad she is "Doc's dog" or "that stupid dog".
I remember the day we got her. Doc took us way out into the country to the German Shepherd Rescue Foundation which happened to be someone's house and a fenced-in area for the neglected dogs.
Grumpy was about 18 months old and I remember him teetering around in the yard while we looked at the dogs. There was a humongous male and a small female and Doc was interested in the female, of course, because he's "so straight he can't even pet a male animal" he once told me.
She was small for a German shepherd and I liked the look of her "black saddle". She was already full-grown at nine months old.
I did not want to be there. I did not want a dog. I knew how much work they are to take care of. I adore animals, but once they enter my house, what starts out as a beautiful friendship quickly turns downhill.
I thought she was a pretty animal and my heart turned as I looked into her sad eyes and yet I still just shook my head and told Doc that if he wanted her it was fine with me. It wasn't really "fine", but since I loved my husband and realized he had to have a dog (I think it might be a "man thing"), I let him bring the dog home with us. He named her Leigh because it was a unisex name and he didn't want a dog like that to have a prissy, girly name.
So. Thus began years of diarrhea, tears, gags, wrath, and Pine-Sol. Now she is about 7 years old and it was only recently that I realized something.
I love her as much as I hate her.
There was a time when I could have given her away, but for some reason, I couldn't do it. The thought of it brought me to tears and I couldn't bear the thought. I thought something was wrong with me. After all these years of screaming at her and cleaning up after her, you would think I would be calling everyone I know asking, "Do you want a dog? Please take her."
This morning, it is raining. We don't get much precipitation where we live, so it was a treat to see the dark sky as we woke and listen to the pitter-patter on the roof. I opened the back door and let Leigh outside to do her business and went to sit in the living room chair for a few minutes to look out the window and watch the rain fall.
I was reflecting on Leigh and her bad and good habits. She is a doofy dog. She knows that she is not allowed to get into the trash. The dog is smart enough to know that. The thing is, though, she doesn't care. She would rather have a few minutes of doggie bliss knowing of the impending danger of being caught than no doggie bliss at all.
One morning, I opened the back door to call for Leigh and there she was right there on the back patio. One of the garbage cans had fallen over due to the wind and she had her nose in there tearing at one of the bags. As I opened the door, she looked up at me and froze. Her expression was one part "oh crap!" and one part defiance. Once I grabbed a hold of her, though, she was smart enough to be scared. She was relegated to the garage which is the place she stays when I am angry with her.
Leigh also has her good habits. She is a bona-fide alarm system. We don't need to pay hundreds of dollars for one of those techno-gadgets that hang on the wall. Our alarm system will rip your throat out if you dare to enter our house uninvited. She loves to scare the pants off of door salesmen or men in uniform. I swear I could see her snicker in doggie fashion one time when a MarGas man almost wet his pants when she scared the living daylights out of him.
It is funny to me that the one person who hates her the most in this family probably loves her the most as well. Doc can stay logical and say "she's just a dog" while I look at her in the garage and feel sorry for her even though it was me who put her there in the first place.
All of these thoughts went through my head as I stared out at the rain. I also realized something else.
She makes me feel safe.
The gushy feeling immediately disintigrated as I blinked into the falling rain. There was Leigh crossing the road into the neighbor's yard. Muttering under my breath, I yanked the front door open and yelled, "Leigh! Get over here you mangy animal! You are not allowed to cross the road, dummy!" She slinks back and runs into the house as fast as she can before I could slam the door on her tail and runs for the garage.
She knows she is in the dog house yet again. For now.
I remember the day we got her. Doc took us way out into the country to the German Shepherd Rescue Foundation which happened to be someone's house and a fenced-in area for the neglected dogs.
Grumpy was about 18 months old and I remember him teetering around in the yard while we looked at the dogs. There was a humongous male and a small female and Doc was interested in the female, of course, because he's "so straight he can't even pet a male animal" he once told me.
She was small for a German shepherd and I liked the look of her "black saddle". She was already full-grown at nine months old.
I did not want to be there. I did not want a dog. I knew how much work they are to take care of. I adore animals, but once they enter my house, what starts out as a beautiful friendship quickly turns downhill.
I thought she was a pretty animal and my heart turned as I looked into her sad eyes and yet I still just shook my head and told Doc that if he wanted her it was fine with me. It wasn't really "fine", but since I loved my husband and realized he had to have a dog (I think it might be a "man thing"), I let him bring the dog home with us. He named her Leigh because it was a unisex name and he didn't want a dog like that to have a prissy, girly name.
So. Thus began years of diarrhea, tears, gags, wrath, and Pine-Sol. Now she is about 7 years old and it was only recently that I realized something.
I love her as much as I hate her.
There was a time when I could have given her away, but for some reason, I couldn't do it. The thought of it brought me to tears and I couldn't bear the thought. I thought something was wrong with me. After all these years of screaming at her and cleaning up after her, you would think I would be calling everyone I know asking, "Do you want a dog? Please take her."
This morning, it is raining. We don't get much precipitation where we live, so it was a treat to see the dark sky as we woke and listen to the pitter-patter on the roof. I opened the back door and let Leigh outside to do her business and went to sit in the living room chair for a few minutes to look out the window and watch the rain fall.
I was reflecting on Leigh and her bad and good habits. She is a doofy dog. She knows that she is not allowed to get into the trash. The dog is smart enough to know that. The thing is, though, she doesn't care. She would rather have a few minutes of doggie bliss knowing of the impending danger of being caught than no doggie bliss at all.
One morning, I opened the back door to call for Leigh and there she was right there on the back patio. One of the garbage cans had fallen over due to the wind and she had her nose in there tearing at one of the bags. As I opened the door, she looked up at me and froze. Her expression was one part "oh crap!" and one part defiance. Once I grabbed a hold of her, though, she was smart enough to be scared. She was relegated to the garage which is the place she stays when I am angry with her.
Leigh also has her good habits. She is a bona-fide alarm system. We don't need to pay hundreds of dollars for one of those techno-gadgets that hang on the wall. Our alarm system will rip your throat out if you dare to enter our house uninvited. She loves to scare the pants off of door salesmen or men in uniform. I swear I could see her snicker in doggie fashion one time when a MarGas man almost wet his pants when she scared the living daylights out of him.
It is funny to me that the one person who hates her the most in this family probably loves her the most as well. Doc can stay logical and say "she's just a dog" while I look at her in the garage and feel sorry for her even though it was me who put her there in the first place.
All of these thoughts went through my head as I stared out at the rain. I also realized something else.
She makes me feel safe.
The gushy feeling immediately disintigrated as I blinked into the falling rain. There was Leigh crossing the road into the neighbor's yard. Muttering under my breath, I yanked the front door open and yelled, "Leigh! Get over here you mangy animal! You are not allowed to cross the road, dummy!" She slinks back and runs into the house as fast as she can before I could slam the door on her tail and runs for the garage.
She knows she is in the dog house yet again. For now.
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