Fear & Small Dogs
Sadie - post bender
We have a busy house with three dogs, chickens (aka yard birds), and a cat casing the perimeter. All three of the dogs are shelter rescues and if compared to candy sizes they’d be snack, fun, and share. Sadie, our yellow lab, is the only “normal” looking dog out of the motley crew. She’s a typical lab who enjoys love, naps, walks, FOOD, and counter surfing. If food is not securely locked up (think “bear box”), Sadie will sneak pies off counters, pry open the dog food bin, and, quite frankly, snatch whatever she damn well pleases off any surface she can reach. More often than I’d like to admit, we come home to a food bender party, dogs guiltily averting their eyes like we’re nasty cops breaking up an awesome rager. They’re caught red-handed with potato-chip-laced beards, empty pie tins and shredded dog treat bags littering the floor. Speed is crucial for a true doggy bender and I imagine that they appoint one of them as a lookout. One floppy ear pressed to the door to warn the others that a human is home early.
Cheyenne - ft. wizard hair
And then we have 14-year-old Cheyenne, who’s our household’s elderly gatekeeper. Cheyenne has a short, stout body and is so rotund she looks like she might've just swallowed a Costco-sized peanut butter jar. Whole. She’ll growl at another dog and then lick their ears in a mothering way just a couple minutes later. I imagine her saying “Let me show you who’s boss and then I might just treat you to a cup of sugar with my gila monster tongue in your ears.” Cheyenne has “wizard” hair coming out of the tops of her ears and if you capture her in the right light, she looks otherworldly. Like a wise, photogenic being.
Buddy is our littlest guy and has a mean case of small dog syndrome. If we walk by another dog, usually one that’s ten times his size, he growls and lunges with a frightening air of let-me-at-him-show-him-who’s-boss. Showing off his janky-ass underbite, he bares his teeth and yips with fury. I am mildly mortified. He truly has a face that only a mother could love. In reality, he’s the biggest wuss of the whole bunch. He’s scared of eating and prone to hunger strikes when his routine is disrupted. He’s also scared of humans, chickens, cats, and anything that makes any audible sound. Fireworks? Forget about it. He’s done. Will someone just open up the doors to the pearly gates for him already?
Just the other day I was walking Cheyenne and Buddy into the groomers. Because a Lab doesn’t require the same grooming habits as long-haired, ratchety-looking rescues, Sadie was in the car freaking out that she couldn’t get her hair and nails done. As I walked up to the groomer to check the pups in, she asked me, “Okay, so we only have Cheyenne today?” I throw her a puzzled look. Like doesn't she see the two ratty-looking dogs at my feet? I look down only to discover that I’m holding Cheyenne in my left hand and my right hand is holding a leash that is definitely not connected to a Buddy. I find him, full body shaking in the parking lot, completely unamused by the unfolding situation. Buddy had slipped out of his collar in a state of sheer panic. Classic, frazzled dog-mom-of-three moment. I might as well have been driving a minivan with chocolate milk staining the front of my shirt.
Buddy survived the groomers
As silly as this moment was, it made me think. It felt like a metaphor for life, actually. What parts of us do we leave behind scared and shaking in the parking lot? Maybe it’s time to scoop up that version of ourselves and just hold it. Let it know that it will be okay. If you look after that scared little person in the parking lot, you may just look a hell of a lot prettier in the end. Even if you have wizard hair.
And Buddy survived the grooming appointment.
Song: “Nobody Knows” by The Lumineers
© Katie Baker 2024
