November 14, 2012

  • Black Dirt

    I don't do it often, but I threw a full-blown verbal tantrum today. Iwas so wound up I was shaking, slamming laundry into the basket, lecturing the dog like she actually spoke English with a sarcastic accent.

    When I first decided I needed a dog, one of the first dogs I found that needed to be rescued (to his forever home) was a Golden Retriever with an unfortunate past. He was living behind the living room chair in a house populated with dog lovers. He was terrified of the man who once cried when he told me how someone had trained one of his rescues with a shock collar and permanently damaged her brain. I did not take this dog because I do not do well with dogs that are afraid of me. I have never abused a dog, but (it's a close call, and) I am related to people who have and I fully understand the mechanism. Like everything else, it is learned behavior and much more intuitive than it is made to appear on television.

    Annie is for the most part fairly fearless, but if you grab her once and do something she doesn't like (ie, latch the crate door,) it can be worth your life to catch her the second time. Or even the first if she's suspscious of your motives. I find the amount of time it takes to sit down, calm down, chill the dog and figure out a way around the problem exasperating when all I want her to do is get in the car or come in from the garage or wipe off her muddy feet.

    So Nancy went to a business meeting today. It was the first time in a long time that I could anticipate a long period of time when I would be home alone. Even the dogs went outside.

    I hauled out the vacuum sweeper, which pretty much assured they would stay outside, swept, and then I dragged out the carpet cleaner and began. Our carpets have taken some heavy abuse lately, and I have been less than diligent about cleaning them.

    I don't really like to clean. I don't hate it; I just never developed that deep sense of personal satisfaction other people seem to find in the task. I do like having a clean house, but not necessarily enough to work that hard to get it. And my knee hurts. And my shoulder aches. And if I put too much effort into life, my back can hurt, I'm slower than molasses and no matter what you do to clean anything, you have a steadily building list of things you have to get done first to get to it.

    On the other hand, if you live with cats or dogs, there is no single thing you can do to a house that will improve the appearance as quickly and as dramatically than sweeping--unless it is steam cleaning.

    So off I went. I cleaned the front hall, part of the dining room (it's easier to do it in pieces), part of the living room, and part of the Conservatory. By then several situations had developed.

    a.) Annie decided she had to come inside. (The ghost of my mother hovers in our bathroom, dramatically wailing, "I can't even go to the bathroom by myself..." in my ear while I soap off in the shower with a small black dog steadily watching me through the door.) If I closed the storm door, she kicked and banged against the dog door so hard I thought she might break it. We have already had this performance in her crate today, and when I released her from the crate she ran outside for an emergency bark session. And then she found some toy she had buried in this lovely wet, black dirt and brought that in, and when I tried to deter her, she decided I was going to beat her and she ran exactly the direction I did not want her to go in holy terror. With a filthy dog toy dripping damp, black dirt.

    b.) My nose started to bleed. I've never had a nosebleed. As a nosebleed it wasn't all that, really, but it's the principle of the thing.

    c.) Did I mention my shoulder hurts? This is because my beloved dog Annie tripped me and I fell into the doorframe, slamming my right shoulder into the frame of the house. My right shoulder is the shoulder that ten years ago took probably 6 years to recuperate from tendonitis. The tendonitis is back. 

    d.) I decided I had done enough cleaning for one day. I had done about half of the job. I can do the other half tomorrow while Nancy is at work. Things look half better, which is progress in my book.

    e.) I took the steam cleaner apart, dumped the dirty water, wound up the hose and the dog came in.

    Annie found that lovely filthy toy by digging it up. Out of black dirt.

    So everywhere she stepped on my clean but damp carpet, she left little black dog prints. Everywhere.

    I tried to catch her.

    I can't catch her because I want to: this means I'm going to beat her. She has to run away now, so she can track black mud all over the parts of the carpet she missed coming inside.

    I offer her a treat.

    She can't come take a treat because if she does I'll catch and beat her.

    "I've never beaten you," I snap. 

    Clearly I have lost all patience and today is the day. Blackfooted, she jumps up on the couch.

    By now if I catch her I AM going to beat her, so I turn and stride away to fold the laundry in the dryer.

    click click click click    

    Riley is not as smart as Annie, but he is more practical.  The cat flounced his tail and disappeared when the sweeper came out. No, it's Annie, exactly a grab-and-a-half away, gazing at me with intense brown eyes that plead, "Why would you beat me? I'm the best dog you've ever had..."

    And she stands there, leaving little black dog prints on the faux hardwood floor that I had no intention of cleaning today...

    Dear Unborn Children: I hear you. And thank you. I did the best I could.