jen pulled the sliding glass door open for the fourth time (within a short visit of potlucking time around the kitchen island) and we all laughed. sweet henry and chester wanted out. wanted in. wanted out. wanted in. this is a familiar tune. dogdog finds it irresistible to demand to go out and then not want to miss anything and want back in. on repeat.
andrea and scott have two golden retrievers. impeccably trained, they wait for a sign or a word to do most anything. they are not the in-and-out-ers that dogga and henry and chester are. i remember them as calm and happy and i vowed that one day i would have a dog as well-behaved. this is not that day.
but dogdog is, yes, dogdog-ish. his sweet face watches our every move, trying to anticipate to which room we might be moving, trying to assess why we are feeling what he knows we are feeling. he doesn’t like conflict; he doesn’t like the sound of metal touching metal. it took him a while to warm up to the ukulele (which he now loves and wishes he could play) and the piano draws him into the studio. he won’t touch food on the counter or the table or really anywhere unless given permission, but his direct eye contact begs for a bite every breakfast. he destroyed very few things as a puppy (well, the kitchen cabinet door and the table legs count) but de-heads every toy he is given and un-stuffings them. he bows to all things babycat, yet loves to drag him around and taunts him until babycat asserts his ruling paw. his aussie-ness makes him intuitively try to keep track of all people and animals in the house, a tiresome and difficult chore when one is peculiarly averse to going upstairs or downstairs. he is quirky.
on island he was quiet. here at home he is a barker. i guess he knew the littlehouse wasn’t his. he loves errands both places. he ecstatically runs miles in circles in the backyard and certain names will make his eyes wide and his australian-shepherd-jumping-bean-dog-heart jump with glee. he clocks out of all responsibility late at night, content to quietly languish in whatever room we are in, happy to have pets and go sleepynightnight. sweet, sweet dogdog emerges from constant-motion dog.
i don’t remember the story we were talking about around jen and brad’s island. i’m sure it was one of tripper’s many idiosyncratic tales. we rolled our eyes and laughed. and brad said, “you should be proud that you raised an independent dog!”