I should call this "Before I Forget" and "While There Is Time." Life with 4 dogs, and one of them just a baby, the little monster, is a hoot, a circus, or, from Milton, Pandemonium. For example, we held Christmas at our house, after Christmas Mass, to accommodate various schedules as all the wives or husband have in-laws whose needs must also be met, so to speak. First mistake: we left wrapped presents on the floor under the small, brightly glowing Christmas tree. Second mistake: we didn't crate Schuster before we left (BM!). Halfway through Mass I leaned over to Mary and whispered, "Right now Schuster is terminating the wrapping paper." When we arrived home, we discovered, of course, that Schuster had indeed terminated the wrapping paper and scattered it around the living room, now known as the "Kill Zone."
Only a few of the presents were damaged. Unfortunately, the main damage was to a beautiful, hard-bound graphic novel entitled Rasl (Romance at the Speed of Light), the nickname of the main character, a physicist who has discovered how to jump to parallel universes (by Jeff Smith). Fortunately the little monster chewed only the binding and that just a little. But still, it is a beautiful book. I received one too, which I read that night and the next day. I would have traded my pristine copy for my son's damaged copy except that Michael had also had each book signed by the author. What a delightful present. Of course, I had to send everyone home post haste so that I could begin reading immediately. Bah humbug.
Okay. We had to put the little monster in the master bedroom, along with his buddy Dexter, because both insisted on barking continuously. Imagine a little red streak darting in and out among 10 people: 8 adults, two grandparents, 3 adult children and, we are pleased to say, 3 spouses, all welcome additions to the menagerie, and 2 grandchildren, and indeed they are, grand children, Julian and Avery, dog lovers every one of us. By my count that is 4 dogs here (well 6 counting Schuster as 3, and one cat indoors, and one cat outdoors, and Possibly the Possum), our oldest son, John-David, 2 dogs (and one cat by marriage); our middle son, Michael, 2 dogs (6 chickens, and perhaps one outdoor cat); our youngest, our daughter, Johanna, 2 dogs--at the moment. And we all love Schuster.
Another unforgettable moment: early this morning, probably close to 2 a.m., Dexter the Beagle, came into the front room carrying the large, heavy plastic, empty water bowl in his mouth (of course) to where we were sitting. Wow. That was impressive. He is not just a pretty face after all.
Simon, when the water bowl is empty and he wants a drink, puts his front paws into the bowl and drives it around the kitchen, making the noise sound like an armed assault, at which point we all hide. For only a bit, of course.
Dogs, like all creatures, embody the mystery of being. They are not programmable machines, a terrible image for a number of reasons. Simon, for example, just barked at the kitchen door to be let in; Schuster, who was with Simon, has learned to do that too when he is outside alone. Schuster has also mostly house-trained himself (two months, which is good for a dachshund; it took Simon nearly a year). Living with these delightful creatures is a constant reminder of that mystery of being for which I am extremely grateful. To use another image, life is a great and complex dance and under this roof our dogs are our closest and dearest partners.
