Doggie boot camp has failed my three-month old border collie,
Annie. She has
DOR'd, if you will,
which is flight-school speak for "Drop-on-Request."
First, Annie likes to dig. She's nearly dug a tunnel beneath
the sidewalk, and I'm afraid soon she'll uproot the tree I planted
for the boys last year.
Dustin's only concern? That one day he'll walk outside and
Annie will have eaten the car.
It seems Annie always has a new surprise for us. One day
she's chewed two inches off the rocking chair, the next day she's
bitten off a chunk of the "Protected by Brinks" sign in the front
yard. I never know what awaits me. But that's part of Annie's
charm.
It reminds me of a story my mom likes to tell. When Dad was
just an LTJG in the Navy, he built his own stereo system from the
ground up. Over the years, as technology advanced from
radiographs--I mean 8-Tracks--to CD players, he added to the system,
always using the same company for parts and equipment. As my older
brothers (Van and Will) and I grew up, Dad went to that same company
for replacement pieces when we broke something.
First, Van blew out the speakers. Then Will broke the
amplifier. Then I got a disc stuck in the CD player. Each time, Mom
called the stereo company to report the problem and order Dad's
parts.
One time the technician said, "Mrs. Rutherford, I see in your
records that each of your children has broken your husband's stereo,
with not many years in between."
"That's true. Any suggestions?" Mom asked.
"That you get rid of your kids so you can enjoy the stereo,"
the man said.
Funny? Yes. But then it becomes a chicken-or-the-egg
scenario. Because what enjoyment could Dad have gotten out of his
perfectly intact stereo without a young daughter to dance along on
top of a cardboard box, singing like Aretha Franklin?
We all make sacrifices to our material things for the people
and animals we love. This shouldn't be a difficult concept for
Dustin to understand. I mean, he did marry me, after all, and by our
first anniversary I had moved every piece of his "bachelor
furniture" to the garage. It was only the first step to eventually
moving everything to the curb without Dustin noticing or
caring.
But back to Annie--dear, sweet, unpredictable Annie. With
each inch chewed off the wooden rocker, I knew Dustin was giving her
a deadline to shape up or ship out. So I went to the bookstore and
purchased a guide called "Outwitting Dogs" by Terry Ryan. Could
there be anything more humiliating? Never mind trying to TRAIN my
dog, or even trying to manage her. No, I have to outwit Annie.
Yet, by the time I got to chapter five—the one about
chewing—a subtitle struck me so that I had to clip it, highlight it,
and post it on the bathroom mirror for Dustin to read: "Last but not
least: It's just stuff."
It's just stuff.
In all Dustin's panic over Annie's destructive tendencies, he
seems to have forgotten about how Owen once decorated our laptop
with a permanent marker. He's forgotten the time Ford dumped bubble
bath on the living room floor, and that the "Hot or Cold" button on
our washing machine fell off during a military move.
He's forgotten these things, because like my dad, he only
remembers the little girl dancing on a cardboard box, not the broken
stereo. (You have forgotten about the broken stereo, right
Dad?)
So what I'd like to remind Dustin is this: Each time the
movers pack up our belongings and drive away with them, not to be
seen again until our next duty station (if at all), we have always
reassured ourselves by saying, "Everything that really matters—our
children—is here in this car."
And now, Dustin, I have Annie—my furry, four-legged, naughty
little child who'd like to eat your car—to add to that list. Look
into her wet brown eyes, or watch the way she digs at the grass with
such fervor and spunk, and I think you'll agree she's
one-of-a-kind…but totally worth it.
Sarah Smiley's syndicated column, "Shore Duty," appears
weekly in newspapers and magazines across the country. Her
first book, Going
Overboard, (Penguin/New American Library) will be
available in stores Nov. 2005. Visit http://www.sarahsmiley.com/
for more information. You can email Sarah at Sarah@SarahSmiley.com.
