Dog Days

I bounded to my feet as I heard the key turn in the lock of the front door. Normally I would prance and leap, tail wagging, trying to restrain myself from jumping up on Janine, my person. Today was different. I shot past her into the garden, desperate. I’d pushed and pushed at Robin’s arm with my nose earlier, trying to tell her I needed to go out. Lying on the couch with her headphones on, scrolling on her phone, she’d been oblivious.

“Bootsy, what’s the matter?” Janine said with concern.

I made it to the lawn just in time, sighing in relief as I watered it. Turning back to the house, I hesitated. The door was open, and I could hear loud voices. I tucked my tail between my legs and trembled. Angry people scare me. Janine is a petite woman, usually very gentle and kind, but today she sounded six feet tall and furious. Returning from her shift at the nursing home, tired and hungry, she had walked in to find the kitchen full of dirty dishes, empty soda bottles and a pizza box in the living room and Robin’s room looking as if it had been ransacked.

“What exactly have you been doing all day?” Janine said to Robin in a low voice almost like a growl. My hackles rose when I heard it.

“Oh, hi, Mom,” Robin said, starting upright and pulling off the headphones. “What time is it? Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I’ve been sending out resumes and trying to count all the rejections.”

“Really?” said Janine, snatching the phone. “You need a dating app for that?”

She hurled the phone into Robin’s room.

“Hey!” Robin said in alarm. “That’s my new phone.”

“Try and find it in that mess,” said Janine, baring her teeth and snarling.

Well, she didn’t really, but I think in dog terms.

“Jeez, Mom, no need to go ballistic,” Robin said, hurrying in search of the phone. “Just because I lost track of time.”

I don’t know why humans don’t sniff trails when they’re looking for things, especially when they’re hidden in a messy room.

“Look, it’s hard, alright? I mean, I’m doing my best to find a job, but it’s not my fault that the job market is lousy. All my friends are gone, grad school, getting married, getting promotions. It’s shattering my self-esteem to be stuck at home. My therapist says…”

“I’ll shatter more than your self-esteem if you’re not careful. Have this mess cleaned up before I get back. You have two hours to get this house in order, or your belongings will be on the porch in bin bags by the morning. The clock’s ticking. Come on, Boots.”

Normally I would have been whirling in delight at the idea of a walk, but I was still wary as she clipped my leash on. I had never seen Janine like this before, and judging from her reaction, neither had Robin. She was staring as if her mother had grown two heads.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Janine said, rubbing my ears. “Not your fault. I’m sorry I upset you.”

My tail began to wag as we left the garden and headed for the park. It was a beautiful day, warm with a tiny hint of crispness in the air. The fall foliage was blazing orange and red under a clear blue sky. Squirrels were scuffling around in the fallen leaves, dashing up the trees as we approached. I longed to run after them, but something told me Janine needed to talk. I might not wear one of those fancy vests, but I am an emotional support dog and I can tell when my person is upset.

“Well, that wasn’t my finest moment, Boots,” she said. “I’m supposed to be the mature adult in the room, modeling appropriate behavior. Something snapped. Maybe I'm the one who needs a therapist…oh, hello, Marge.”

I recognized her friend Marge who was walking with her spaniel, Lucy. Marge looked at Janine and frowned.

“What’s wrong? Don’t try to deny it. Come on, spill the beans while we’re walking and you’ll feel better.”

Lucy’s whole body wiggled in delight when she saw me, but she seemed to sense the need for decorum today and walked quietly on as Janine poured out her story.

“It was her decision to study Renaissance Art and English. I told her that it was a niche market, and she might end up asking if customers want fries with their order, but of course she didn’t listen. I had just got into a nice routine by myself at home, when she moved back in. Instead of being appreciative, she doesn’t even help. Oh, goodness, listen to me. I hate whiny people, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Let’s sit down.”

She and Marge sat down on a bench overlooking the duck pond. Lucy stiffened with excitement as she saw some geese waddling down to the water, but she lay down at Marge’s command. I sighed and subsided too, my head on my paws. These long human conversations are so boring.

“You’re entitled to vent,” said Marge. “But you can’t control her actions. All you can control is your reaction. What is your usual reaction?”

Janine thought for a moment and shrugged.

“I apologize, and so does she. She tries to be more helpful for a day or two and then she backslides. I get resentful. Today I ended up exploding. Scared myself and poor Boots.”

I licked her hand.

“Sounds like you might have scared her straight, but why don’t you try something else?” said Marge. “Give her a list of specific chores and a deadline to find a job, any job, whether she asks if people want fries or not. If she doesn’t comply, she needs to make other living arrangements.”

“But then I feel so guilty…” Janine said.

“Don’t,” said Marge. “You’ve gone over and above. Stick to your guns or she’ll never learn. You can’t complain if you keep trying the same routine and expecting different results. Now, why don’t we go to the dog park and then grab a beer and a burger at that new dog-friendly pub?”

Janine hugged her.

“Thank you. I needed that pep talk. Let’s go!”

Lucy and I bounded to our feet, tongues out, tails wagging. A romp in the dog park, followed by some admiring glances in the pub and a good meal when we get home. Perfect. I’ll never understand why humans overthink everything. Their lives would be a lot simpler if they were as happy with the little things as we dogs are.