Anytime I talk about my dog, I get asked the same question. “What kind of dog do you have?” Every time I give the same answer. “Stupid.”
We named him after the great canine legend, Hank the Cowdog. We hoped that by osmosis or some other big word, our puppy would grow to be as brave, wise, and musically inclined as his namesake. Fat chance.
He was Mighty Dog sans the cape. With a single leap he was over our fence and those of three neighbors. Except he didn't know how to reverse the path and get home. I'll never forget the day ol' Ruby came home to find my rear sticking out of her doggie door as I tried to lure Hank out of her garage with a milkbone.
In our next house we installed an invisible fence and clipped on the shocker collar. 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.”
We upgraded to the “Stubborn Dog” collar. The shocker unit is the size of a sandwich. Hank saw cats. Hank chased cats. Hank got shocked, yelped louder and kept running. I inadvertently taught the kids next door new words. I met more neighbors. I called my husband (Hank waited to run away until Scott was traveling) and screamed, “You need to do something about this dog!” He reminded me that the kids and I conspired against him to get the dog in the first place.
One day I watched Hank bark at a cat in our backyard. There was two feet of space between them. Hank barked ferociously. The cat yawned. “Finally!” I thought. “The dog has learned his boundaries. He won't get shocked to reach the cat.”
The next day I observed Hank lounging in the exact spot the cat sat the day before. My dog is afraid of cats.
His inherent survival tendencies are much like that of our children: Good thing he's cute or else he'd be a memory. Unlike our children, we have the advantage of reminding Hank that we rescued him from the city pound death chamber. He should be grateful and act accordingly. Our children, we can only hope, will show gratitude for us giving them great genes and a pantry full of sugar bomb cereal.
Hank tested those tendencies again this weekend. When it started to rain, we called him in for the night. No Hank. I jumped in the van and the boys headed out on foot. I found him around the corner, offered him a treat and watched him run. After an hour, I decided hamsters were underrated and went home. My headlights shone in our yard onto the most innocent looking dog, curled up in his favorite spot, as if he'd never left.
Good thing he's cute.
Karen Rinehart is a magazine humor columnist, public speaker and the creator of The Bus Stop Mommies, a newspaper. She is also author of Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life. You can read more of her work at karenrinehart.net. Karen lives in Concord, North Carolina with her two kids, one husband and goofball dog, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dog at home.) She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan and England.
