In the Doghouse

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  I’m surprised that I am not the nationally president for PETA.  I give money each year to my local no-kill animal shelter.  I love animals. Always have.  But, I don’t want to hear any sad animal stories. I couldn’t even watch Lassie movies when I was a child, because there was always an animal in peril as the storyline.

I always want animals to be happy and comfortable. I guess that is why I made sure my stuffed animals had a place to sleep each night. I would pull out drawers and they would sleep among my clothing. I couldn’t just take them off my bed and lay them on the floor. That would be uncomfortable. And rude.

My dad made things worse. He is the one who started my life-long dislike of dog houses.

“Vickie, look at that poor dog tied up to the dog house. Why own a dog if you leave it tied up like that?”  He said that every time he saw an outside dog on a rope by a very small building. It got to the point where I would look for dog houses where ever we went. And I am still like that today. For example, there are at least 22 doghouses on my way to work. Many of them were empty. Some of them had dogs sitting patiently for their master. And they were on a very short rope.

 Don’t get me wrong. I am sure there are people reading this who have outside dogs and love them very much. I’m not talking about you, ok?  I’m talking about dogs who sit by a dog house, at the far corner of their owner’s property, with little food and water in their bowls, and looking like no one pays any attention to them. It breaks my heart.

So, when I was little, I released a dog from its rope one time. Oh dear God, it would be the last time.  Max was a German shepard who lived about 4 doors up the street from us. He was mean. Nasty. And I didn’t know this, but had already taken a bite out of a child. Back then nothing ever happened to dogs gone wild.  Yes, Max was the neighborhood bully.

Most of the time Max was not by his doghouse. He must have lived indoors. But, he was the only dog that I knew in my  ”walking allowance area” that was kept on a rope. Poor dog. I remembered what my dad said about dogs. Max needed my help. So, one sunny day, when we were all outside playing, and the neighborhood was full of outside activities, I decided to slip in their backyard and release Max.

My heart was pounding.  Now, you have to understand that I had no idea that day that Max was a mauler. I thought he was a nice puppy dog like the rest of the neighborhood dogs. I knew them. I didn’t know Max. He looked at me coming. His stood up. His tail was wagging. He didn’t growl. I sweet talked to him and put my hand in front of him so he could smell my hand. He did. I petted his head and told him I loved him. And  unhooked the chain from his collar. Max was free! Have fun, Max!

 Well, Max took off. I quickly went back up the street and over to my yard. I could hear screaming. “Max is lose. Max is lose.” Everyone ran for their doors. What the hell is going on?  Well, evidently, I released one of the hounds of hell. Max  was promptly caught by the lady of the house, who ran after him with wet hair and her housecoat snapped on the wrong snap. She apparently saw from her bathroom window a “little boy with blond hair” release him.  How did she not know it was me? I didn’t really know her too well, but it had to be plain as could be. Maybe she didn’t have her glasses on. That would explain why she tripped and almost fell stepping off of her curb when she began her pursuit.

My mom gathered us up like a mother hen with her chicks. “Max just got loose.”  Um, he just sniffed my hand, Mom. I couldn’t say a word. The whole neighborhood was on lock-down until Max was retrieved. Wow. Looks like I started a commotion.

Future Max

It wasn’t until my dad came home and heard the excitement of the day, that he just looked at me and smiled.

“Who was the little boy with blond hair who released Max?”  My mom answered him, “Some kid who obviously isn’t watched by his mother, that’s for sure!”

My dad looked at me again, smiling more. He knew.