They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Why would you want to when you’re still trying to rid the dumb dog of his old tricks? Like running away. Honestly, I thought Hank the Hounddog and I had finally come to an understanding.
Me: “Hank, if you don’t run away ever again, I’ll continue to feed you. I’ll never again make you wear that dorky Hawaiian shirt up to the bus stop. I’ll never bring home another dog 1/5th your size who steals your toys, food, owner’s affections, and favorite napping spots. And I’ll never again embarrass you in front of all the other bus stop dogs by writing about you in another column or book.”
Hank: “Yawn.”
I took that as a “Yes” and stamped his little ink-laden paw on the paper.
Last night, I learned a dog’s Paw Print isn’t worth its weight in steak bones and “Yawn” means, “I’ll comply until you are far too lax for your own good and totally forget about this lame contract.”
The first sign of trouble appeared when we sat down to dinner of grilled pork and there was no hairy, slobbery, tail-thumping four-legged mammal staring at me with big, liquid, brown eyes. I was ready to relax and my glass of Pinot Grigio helped me not to care. But then I saw the second sign of trouble — Hank’s invisible fence collar was shoved in the corner under someone’s dirty socks and P.E. uniform. Wait, no one in this house had P.E. this semester…
You may recall the joys I experienced training Hank to stay within his invisible fence boundaries. Hank saw cats. Hank chased cats. Hank got shocked, yelped, and kept running. We met lots of new neighbors. I became known as “the lady with the dog that always runs away.”
After upgrading to the “Stubborn Dog” collar with a shocking device the size of a sandwich, Hank continued to blow beyond the boundaries. Hank’s a fast learner, so it only took him two years to stop chasing cats and turn his attention to perfecting the fine art of eating sticks and perennials within property lines.
Sign three of trouble was Hank’s regular collar, adorned with 32 forms of I.D., hanging on the hook next to the door — as opposed to his neck. My husband and I left our teary-eyed children at the table to guard our ribs and wine, while we drove around the last 42 neighborhoods where Hank ever surfaced after running away. Forty minutes later, dogless and near tears myself, I headed home.
Pulling in my driveway ahead of me was my neighbor Racheal. With smiles the size of Nebraska, seven-year-old Lizzy and five-year-old Isaac stood in their minivan, clinging to Hank. It’s like they have Hank Radar. I’m thinking about hiring them and their Hankdar on an ice cream and M&M’s retainer. Something tells me I’m going to need them again.
Now where’s that cute little Hawaiian doggie shirt?
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at www.busstopmommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
