Watch Dog

This morning, as I stumbled about the house in a state of drowsy unrest, recalling the routines of my working self, my dog Obie kept a watchful eye on my every step. He remained just a few paces behind me at all times. He settled himself on the threshold of the bathroom to watch me put on my make-up and do my hair. He watched me pack my bags, make the bed and walk a few laps around the house making sure I wasn’t forgetting anything important. Straightening iron off? Check! Outside lights off? Check! Pet water bowls filled? Check!

As he sensed my hour of departure neared, Obie stood guard by the door, chest out, and eyes watchful. When he thought I was going to leave, he circled the doormat a couple of times, then planted himself squarely in my path. If I didn’t know any better, I could swear I saw concern lining his furry brow and sadness filling his moist eyes. He gave me those infamous puppy-dog eyes. It was as if he was saying: “Please no! Don’t go!” You can’t really blame him. After all, my presence has been a part of his every-day for close to a month now.

My overtly sensitive little animal is not easily fooled. No, he was well aware that unlike the mornings of the last 25-plus days, today was different. Today, there would be no sleeping in, with him protectively on the floor by my bed. There would be no lingering by my side as I made my way – shuffling at first – from bedroom to kitchen to living room sofa for mind-numbing TV - to patio deck and back to bedroom. There would be no uncontrollable tail wagging because all I could do in a day revolved around him. There would be no understanding that my 24/7 was to be spent in the four corners of my home where he happily resides. There would be no midday walks around the yard with him off the leash, so he wouldn’t yank his worse-for-wear human mommy. There would be no leaping and rolling happily on the deep lush greens, a subtle game of hide-and-seek where no one hid and no one sought. There would be no racing back when I whistled for his prompt return. Instead, he suspected, he would spend his day as he does week after week. He would tire of waiting patiently indoors for our return in the late evening. He would drag himself around, head hung low, wishing for just a tiny bit of loving interaction. Dogs were the original interactive toys!

When I finally convinced him to step away from the door, he did so reluctantly, edging over to the side as if I had scolded him. I knelt down and grabbed his face, tugging gently at his sadly dropped ears, staring directly into his truthful eyes. “Mommy will be right back! I love you!” Hmm…lying to this innocent creature! How very human of me. Someone once told me that animals didn’t have the same sense of time that we humans do. At least that’s what I tell myself to ward off the guilt. Maybe that is why they’re always happy to see us regardless of the length of our absence.

So loyal are dogs with their kind wet noses and their noble eyes! How often we forget, as we go about our lives, that they are there – patiently waiting for us with boundless excitement - whether our absence is long or short. I adore my little fur ball because I know that in many ways, both big and small, he offers simple salvations. If I am down, he knows to stroll on by and nuzzle my hand, as if to say: “Chin up! Things will be fine”. If I am happy, he knows there’s a head scratch, treat or belly tickle in store for him and so he’ll make his way by me and position himself in lieu of yelling: “Here I am! Scratch away”. If I am angry, he’ll do something silly, like stand at attention, as the cat strolls by with her butt as high as a country club member’s nose.

Obie is my Good Boy. He is the handsome, well-mannered, well-behaved dog everyone wants and some folks pay hundreds to acquire. Yet he never saw the inside of an obedience school. He is self-taught – a natural! He’s been with me since 1997. Although he’s getting up in years, he retains that boyish charm, that sweet puppy disposition. And I am not just saying this because I’m biased. On an outing recently, more than a few people made the comment. “Aww, is he a puppy?” Nope. Obie is a full-grown American Eskimo male who is sweet, shy, plays well with cats and wouldn’t hurt a fly. He is the equivalent of owning a stuffed dog, except better because he loves you back. I shake in my britches when I think of ever losing him, though I know with sick certainty that the day will come. However, I know that’s far off yet, for my boy is healthy and active still. All I ask is for many, many more years of some of the same.

Man, is this day ever going to end? Obie is home waiting for me…