Just when we thought a glimmer of light was showing through the darkness, we get hit with another layer of terrible…I’m increasing prayers for this old world and invite everyone to increase their conversations with their Higher Power.
“I’ll do the feeding, walking and bathing. You won’t even know he’s here.” How many times have we all heard these words? … But from a 67 year-old-man?!
He went on to explain how he was lonely when I worked and thought a dog companion would be good for his mental health. Knowing he was an expert spreader of bovine excrement, I knew it was my mental health that would get pinged…and…we both knew how this conversation would end.
The bedraggled little terrier mix stole our hearts immediately and he checked all our boxes…most importantly that the dog wasn’t so big that he could pull my husband off his scooter should he try to run, but big enough to have a good warning bark as my husband spent many hours alone in the workshop. We changed his name to Wags because his tail never stopped, but we quickly learned he didn’t care what you called him as long as there were treats involved.
Unfortunately, he was very afraid of loud voices and would position himself directly behind me and very close to my legs if he thought he might be in trouble. Turning exactly as I turned made it virtually impossible to reach him…Sad but brilliant!
Wags figured out how to walk on a leash next to my husband’s scooter on the first attempt, turning and sidestepping with the grace of a ballerina when necessary. The unlikely pair made the rounds of the neighborhood every morning, my husband stopping to speak with neighbors he had never met pre-Wags, while the dog sat patiently waiting.
I came upon the idea of Wags becoming my replacement “Please hand me...’ after one of my husband’s falls off the scooter while reaching for something he dropped. Within one hour Wags had learned to pick up most anything we pointed to, from tiny screwdrivers to large hammers. I taught him the command was “Pick it up,” but by the end of the day he had learned my husband’s “#@*&*%” meant the same thing.
After my husband passed away, Wags became my constant companion, although somewhat morosely. Never leaving my side, he looked so miserable. I wracked my brain to come up with something to get him back to his old active self and luckily remembered how he enjoyed learning new things. The hours spent teaching him to jump through a hula hoop, roll over, play mortally wounded, (he never quite grasped the concept of ‘play dead’ and wouldn’t lay his head down), and more was therapeutic for both of us.
When the doctor said I could no longer delay surgery, Wags fell into a caretaker roll. Recuperating on the couch, I had a constant furry weight on my legs, a head to rub and a ‘Please hand me…’ for all the dropped Kleenex boxes, books and those darn little pillows. Not to mention an attentive listener to me bemoaning my fate and arguing with Dr. Phil.
I’ve had several dogs throughout my life but, none as instinctively kind or learning new things nearly so fast, much of the time figuring things out for himself.
I wouldn’t tell my husband, but maybe hornswoggling does work out sometimes.
