Thursday, January 5, 2012

A dog story

So last night after Beve went to bed I was sitting out in our living room watching TV doing something productive. It actually could have been anytime after about 8 PM since he woke up around 2 AM and put in a 12 hour day, so was, as he sometimes says, "one tired cowboy," which is ridiculous because he's no more a cowboy than I am (except for the gender thing). But it was getting on toward 11.  And around here, that's an hour that means something. It means it's time for our Springer Spaniel to go to bed. Jamaica is a creature of habit.  She likes her life run a clear and certain way, was all out of wack this year when E packed up her room and moved away. You see, for the last 3 years E has been the person of choice to close 'Maica into her kennel at night. So the first few nights she was gone, Maica was not one bit pleased that she had to have me do the job instead, even though she always has her pre-kennel nap on our bed next to Beve.

But she's grudgingly allowed me the privilege (or at least that's how it appears from where I sit, though climbing out of my cozy bed to close her into her kennel each night isn't much of a privilege. Maica does like that kennel, though, no matter that it's much too big for her, was bought for our extra-large lab, Jemima.  You should have seen Maica in it when she was a 10 pound puppy. We put all sorts of towels and blankets around her so it'd fit her (and she wouldn't pee in it). Worked like a charm.  She races into the kennel at the first sign of trouble: loud noises, strangers, dogs she doesn't know, and and a few canine esoteric things I obviously can't hope to understand.  And to sleep.

Obviously.  Last week when my sister was here, sleeping in E's bedroom, Maica actually scratched on that door because she knew someone was in there, and that someone--CLEARLY--should put her to bed.

But last night was the most direct Maica's ever been about her bedtime routine.  She trotted all the way down our long hallways to our living room, stood staring at me for a while, turning her head every now and then to where Jackson was sleeping across the room by the fire and when I didn't jump up and assist her, actually began to bark.  Beve calls it her, "Timmy fell down the well," bark.  Those of you old enough will recognize the 'Lassie' reference.

 I started laughing,  "So you think it's time to go to bed. "
This made Jamaica bark louder, which made Jackson (the twelve-year-old old man that he is!) stretch and get to his feet (paws?).
"OK," I told her. "I'm coming."
But she wasn't content with me simply walking her down the hallway.
"What?" I asked as I walked back into the room.
 She just stood in the living room until I went back, turned off the TV, the lights and the fireplace, barking the entire time.

Then she practically raced down the hall and into her kennel. Jackson settled on his bed beside her.  I could practically hear her deep sigh when I closed her door.  All was right with her world.

I texted my kids that the flusher in her was flushing us all the way to our beds. But as I lay in my bed wondering which house that young couple on House Hunters picked, I thought, "Hmm, first my parents, then my babies, now my DOG is directing my bedtime."

1 comment:

Deidre said...

Aw, it is funny how dogs settle into their routines isn't it! She sounds like a sweet pup though.