Temporary Address

Temporary Address

Monday, June 28, 2010

The Way of the Pack








I finally had my human trained. We were sleeping in the woods - a church campout, they called it, and oh, it was a glorious time! We ran through grass and mud with human puppies, and I almost caught a gopher! No fooling! I sniffed behind a rock and there was its scent. Well, dirt was flying faster than I could sneeze it out of my nose, and pretty soon I had a hole big enough to stick my whole head through.

And all the time the humans were patting my head and rubbing my tummy and making a big deal over me. “You’re such a good girl, Molly.” “Good dog, Molly!”You’re so beautiful!” And so on. I was positively giddy with delight.
The best part of camping was the night. I’d sleep on my human’s sleeping bag curled around her feet. My heart was at peace, and I fell asleep each night next to her. Our smells, our warmth, the rhythm of our breathing came together I n a supreme oneness. Before this camping trim, my human had never let me sleep with her. But this the way of the dog pack and the way is good.


I have to say Molly was really well-behaved on the campout.
I don’t know what possessed me to stop by the pound last week. I guess I was getting pretty lonely rattling around my house all by myself. But once I saw her huddled in the corner of her cage, I knew I had to have her. She looked so miserable shivering and cowering, her hind end all wet. Sadder than any other dog in the pound, sadder than any dog I’d ever seen in my entire life. I’d signed the papers before I knew what hit me.


But this campout may have been my last. I don’t sleep well in a bed with an expensive mattress, and these last three nights were like some kind of torture. I’d forgotten to bring an air mattress and pillow, so I had to lie on hard ground with a sweater under my head. Molly took up a huge chunk of the sleeping bag, so I couldn’t do much stretching or tossing. She did keep my toes warm, though, and she went right to sleep the minute I did. I couldn’t wait to get home to a really good bed and a really good night’s sleep.

After a car ride where I got to stick my head out of the window, we came to our house. Right away, I recognized the pine tree in front, which the neighbor’s beagle had marked. Inside I was overjoyed by the comforting familiarity of the smells of carpet and couch leather, with my master’s smell blended into everything in the room. I licked her nose, then jumped about from couch to couch while my master played fetch with some suitcases.

I was so tired and groggy from not sleeping, it was all I could do to get the camping gear into the front hallway. I threw a load of laundry into the washing machine, using the last of the laundry detergent, then started dressing and showering for bed.

My master’s bedroom door was open. I jumped onto the bed finding a good spot in the middle and I dug at the cover making a nice nest for myself. My master’s smell was everywhere lulling me with security.

“Molly, No! Get off the bed. Bad dog!”

I cringed. Had she learned nothing from our nights at the campout? I rolled over onto my back. Why was she so angry? What happened to “adorable” and “great dog?” I wagged my tail and cocked my head in a submissive manner.“Molly, No. Get down.”
Now she was grabbing my collar and pulling me off the bed. And so I humbled myself still more. Lying on my back on the bedspread, I leaked the yellow water, letting it dribble down my hind legs and onto the bedding. This the way of the pack. The way the weakest shows submission.

“No, you stupid dog!” No!” I've never called a dog stupid in my life, but I was so tired. I pulled Molly off the bed and yanked off the bedspread and the blankets wet with dog pee. In a fog of sleep deprivation, I drove down to Safeway for a gallon of Tide. By the time everything was washed, I was too tired to think in a straight line. Gratefully, I collapsed into my bed.
Was the front door locked? Probably not. I was so tired, it was easy to forget locking the front door. I pulled back the covers and fumbled around for my slippers.


The bedroom door was open. If my master could feel the oneness of sleeping with me, our smells blending together, she’d let me jump on the bed. She’d pet me and call me ‘good Molly’ and everything would be harmony. Besides, her bed was so much softer than the pillow she’d left for me to sleep on.

“Molly, No! Get down. Go sleep in your own bed.”

She didn’t sound pleased. Not at all. I leaked more yellow water as a sign of submission, but she got even madder and put me into the garage without speaking to me.

I shivered from the loneliness and misery even though the garage wasn’t particularly cold, and fell asleep listening to the sloshing and thumping sounds of the washing machine which reminded me of the slathering grunts of a pit bull.
I scratched at a throw rug she’d left for me and huddled and shivered myself to sleep and dream myself back in dog jail. Cement cell walls confining me. Humans staring at me through wire and talking with loud voices, and laughing because of my wet tail. But the worst was the canine sounds. There were the yelping sounds of a dog in pain, and maybe the next yelping dog would be me. And always the throaty threats and rumblings of the dog gangs – the Dobermans, the German shepherds, and the junkyard mutts. These were the dogs whose characters had been toughened by survival in the dumps and back alleys, and whose sweet doggie tempers had been
beaten until the dogs were hardened into killing machines. I understood the language of their growling.
And then there was the room in the back. We dogs didn’t understand, but we could sense the terrible air of fear and sadness mingled with the smell of antiseptic. Sometimes a dog with a rope around its neck would be pulled into the room, its eyes, wide, bulging with fear. And the dog never came back out…
The cold hard floor of the garage was like the floor of my cell in dog jail. In my dream, I could hear the taunts of the gang dogs. “You’re next you collie bitch. First I’ll hump you, then I’ll tear you apart for pleasure.” A rope was tight around my neck, and I was being dragged past the pit bulls and Rottweillers toward the back of the jail. I strained against the human guard and dug my pads into the cement floor. I tugged against the rope tightening around my throat, but it was in vain. They were too strong. Slowly, relentlessly, they pulled me toward the Room. I saw the door open. Rough hands pushed me through.
I was wakened by the sound of my own howling. Was this a dream or a premonition? I needed my human to console me, to rub my back, and pet my tummy and talk quietly to me, but there was just the garage. Even the washing machine was still now.

I woke up feeling a little better. I called in sick at the office, fed Molly, and went back to sleep. It had been a mistake to get a dog. I didn’t need this aggravation. I should just take Molly back to the pound. She was so pretty, surely someone else would adopt her right away. Remembering the night before and the wet bedding, I gave her a final dirty look and went back to sleep.
I slept till about ten o’clock, drank some coffee to put my brain back in gear, then straightened the house, finished the laundry, and stowed the camping supplies, thinking about Molly and the dog pound all the while.
“Come on, Molly, let’s go for a ride.” She came willingly, panting with a doggie grin. She’s adorable, I thought but I just can’t handle a dog right now. “Get into back seat.” She jumped in knowing that a car was meant for fun. I tied her back with the tears starting. I petted the fur under her oh so soft chin, and looked into her oh so trusting brown eyes. “Good bye, dog. I’ll miss you.” We drove toward the pound.
Just one last run at the park, I thought. I have the day free anyway.
Molly was a perfect lady on the leash, walking by my side with only an occasional tug at a passing squirrel. Here eyes looked up at me adoringly. I remembered the campout, and how well she’d behaved. I remembered her cuddling next to my feet at night on the sleeping bag. No wonder she wanted to sleep on my bed.
I took her home and gave her a great big Milk Bone, and petted her stomach and told her what a truly remarkable dog she was. She needs me. Whatever else happens, she’s my dog now.


I gaze longingly at the human’s bed and yearn to feel the softness of the mattress and the warmth of her feet under my chin. To be one with her in slumber. But the ways of her pack are foreign and strange, and I have much to learn.
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The End