December 8, 2012
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The Blue Sheet
The first time I ever saw Annie, she was sitting quietly inside a big metal crate. As were a lot of other dogs: she was in the dog pound. Even more dogs were sitting noisily in big metal crates, barking their heads off, and one of the things I remember from my first impression of Annie was how absolutely quiet she was.
She also had kennel cough, two kinds of worms, she was in heat and she had dug most of the skin off her throat due to food allergies, she was clearly terrified and trying to pretend she was somewhere else entirely, but…she was quiet.
It turns out this was misleading.
Annie is not a quiet in-crate sitter.
Annie is a howler, a whiner, a whimperer, a throwing-herself-against-the-bars, digging-the-drip-pan-completely-out-from-under-her, bending-the-bars inmate of such intensity that when I read in my dog book, ‘you should never let your dog believe you released her from the crate because she was howling’ I thought I’m never going to be able to let this dog out again. She broke her first cage: ripped a bar loose, bent it up until it looked as if she intended to throw herself on it, impaling herself in suicidal despair. That cage is out for repair. We borrowed another larger crate from a friend, and Annie has rearranged the alignment of the bars until they hold her, yes, but I am ashamed to return it to its rightful owner.
And then she goes to sleep.
We do not leave the house with Annie running freely inside because a.) at odd moment she plays Chase Me with the cat, who is old and not as agile as he once was (although this has done nothing for his disposition) and b.) she gets into my stuff. The dog eats steel wool. The dog eats gourds, acrylic paints, and pig ears that have been aged and seasoned in holes in the back yard. (Do not ask me why we have pig ears aging and seasoning in the holes in our back yard.)
In an effort to provide Annie with a kinder, gentler crate experience, I read some more, listened to advice from other dog owners, and then I went to our linen closet and secured a blue sheet with which I covered the crate. Giving her peace and tranquility, I thought.
I was so proud of myself.
I could problem solve for a dog.
I cannot describe to you what happened to that sheet. We were gone for six hours. (Some dogs spend 8 hours a day in crates: I’m just saying. They do. They’re not even abused.)
She had grabbed the sheet through the bars and pulled it inside the crate, then stuffed it through another hole and pulled it tight. It looked like a knitting project…well, I suppose, a weaving project. Weaving projects are more easily done with long thin strips of material but she had six hours and nothing else to do, so she created thin strips of the sheet by sheer force.
As a sheet, the blue sheet is now worthless.
It took me fifteen minutes to unweave the sheet from the crating.
I tossed it on the Conservatory couch because…I’m like that.
This inadvertently created a place of inestimable value on the Conservatory couch.
When Riley jumps up on the couch, he sleeps on the blue sheet.
This makes the blue sheet the very best possible place for Annie to sleep.
When Riley is on the blue sheet, Annie runs outside and barks at something. Riley jumps up, runs out to help her defend the castle. Annie dashes back into the house and claims the blue sheet. And around and around they go, each vying for their rightful place on the blue sheet.
The game ends when Riley sniffs, I didn’t want to sleep on the blue sheet anyway and goes to the living room couch. He is not a big brother for nothing.
