G'Day, Guvnah!

Well, I knew we couldn’t hold out forever: it’s been too long since Jim had dragged home some live creature.  I say, “Let’s keep that winning streak going,” but clearly I am in the minority.  

So we got a dog. 

I had a list of things I wanted out of the deal.  First, this was going to be a guard dog, so it needed to be a dog with a fearsome bark and keen sense of stranger danger, especially on nights when Jim was working.  Second, I wanted a mutt, which allegedly have fewer health problems than purebreds, and third, I wanted a girl because boys are gross.  Fourth, I absolutely did not want a puppy, because I didn’t want to housebreak it, or deal with gnawed-on furniture legs.  Finally, I asked Jim to wait until after Christmas break, once my sister and her family had returned home, to avoid the compounded chaos of a new pet and six rambunctious five to 15-year olds all fighting over who was going to hold the dog next.  I was clear and concise in my demands.

Which is why, one week into my sister’s visit (and one week until the end of it), Jim called me from Atwoods where he, my brother-in-law and all the kids, had gone to pick up chicken feed.  

Now I know that a trip to Atwoods never ends in my favor, but then I was still hopeful.

“There’s a dog for sale, and it’s here!” Jim said.  “Can I get it?”  My sister, who was with me, grinned.  You know — the wicked, knowing, “You are sooo in trouble!” grin all siblings master at a young age.  Isn’t it funny how infuriating that look is when you’re both adults?

The Many Sleeping Positions of Guvnah

Guvnah (which is “Governor” pronounced with a cockney accent) turned out to be a six-week-old, pure-bred English Pointer male puppy who demonstrated a remarkable ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, but for the brief moments he would wake to relieve himself in any dark corner.  Except for the times he did it in broad daylight, in the middle of the room.  

At least I didn't have to worry about the puppy chewing furniture legs.  Why chew wood when tender human ankles are so widely available? 

His culinary taste proved varied, and when left to his own devices outdoors, Guv headed straight for cat poo (that was entirely invisible to us until we stepped in it) somewhat like a divining rod to water.  And then he’d eat it.  Unperturbed by my disgusted demands of “how do we make him stop?” Jim’s thoughtful and entirely practical suggestion was that if Guv was going to eat cat poop, we should probably at least start feeding the cats better cat food.   

After a couple of months I’d resigned myself to owning a dog that spectacularly failed to meet most of my original criteria.  Then came the day I left the kids alone to pick up a few groceries.  Would Guv bark to alert them of an approaching car?  I wondered on my return as I pulled onto our property. 

Guv and Harli

As I started to pull into the circular drive a white head popped up from where it had been resting on Harli’s dog bed.  Guv’s ears were perked forward and slowly he rose, every muscle in his body tense with the effort to hold himself in check.  His nose trembled, whiffing for the scent of the strange object moving menacingly toward him.  “Careful,” I thought to myself.  “He hasn’t seen the car moving before when he’s been outside by himself.”  Instinctively I began to brake, worried for the first time the little idiot would dash out in front of me in a heroic effort to warn me off and “protect” the kids.  

And then, like a streak, he shot from the dog bed straight towards me.  

I didn’t know he could move so fast.  He was a white blur against the brown house trim.

I can’t even say when I realized I was no longer looking at his face, but at his fast-retreating hind quarters as he veered off around the house, hugging the corner so tightly he scraped the brick siding.  By the time I stopped in front, Guv was watching me, still tensely, from the living room windows — inside the house.  And he never uttered a sound.

So now we know the signal: if ever Guv barrels silently past us we’d better start running too: danger is breathing down our necks.  I don’t think this method is going to help if it’s say, the middle of the night and we’re all asleep when strangers come calling.  But it's better than nothing.  

That's what I tell myself each evening anyway, as I go on my walk, and this dog I didn't want frisks joyfully beside me, chasing butterflies or else the unfortunate cats up trees, always turning around anxiously to check on my whereabouts when he gets too far ahead; as he races frantically back and forth between Jack and Woody, pursuing the baseball that is always just out of his reach; as he accompanies Woody out to the barn with the scrap bucket, ever hopeful of a morsel of vegetable paring or stale cookie; as he bounces erratically (but always terribly high) on the trampoline with the girls; as he sits patiently on my feet while I wash dishes, a tacit reminder he'd like that last piece of bacon on the dirty plate, please; as he chases his tail, always with one sheepish eye on me, as if to say, "I know I look ridiculous, but I can't stop!"

Darn Jim.  He finally got one right.