Doggie downer
Howard has been moping around lately. This morning, I found him draped across the family room sofa, eyes rolled back and legs wilted over the edge of a cushion in a pose that brings to mind Greta Garbo begging to be left alone.
“Come on, Howie,” I said at the open door. “Time to go out.”
He rolled his eyes back toward me, sighed noisily and then turned his nose to the wall.
I closed the door and let him be. It’s been 15 days, and he’s worn out from all the hoping.
Howard’s been hoping his buddies will walk through the door and restore his world to normal. Patrick the farmer and the shelties Lucy and Smoothie have been away on a trip, leaving Howard adrift.
I know what Howard is feeling. The three of them brought a constant fizz to the household.
There’s the morning excitement of a prance through the yard followed by bowls of food and maybe a scrambled egg. That’s followed by a session of hopeful tail wagging under the kitchen table while we humans have our breakfast. Sometimes there’s even bacon for everybody.
Then there’s more chasing around the backyard with Smoothie while Lucy stands at the door and barks for them to stop it. Afternoons bring communal naps on the sofa. Dinnertime brings another trip outside and more bowls of food and maybe some plates to lick. After that comes what I’m sure Howard misses the most: the time when we sit on the sofa and watch TV, four hands petting three fuzzy heads.
I’ve been trying to make it up to Howard. Yesterday, he seemed so lonely I chased him around the backyard for a while, but he lost interest before I did and wandered back into the house. I am not as fast as Smoothie.
Howard’s been getting a scrambled egg every morning – something I started when I noticed his curls were starting to look a little drab. I think his whole body is feeling the absence.
I’ve let him sleep on my bed these last weeks. Halfway through the night, he slides up to my back and sleeps alongside me.
In some ways, Howard has more creature comforts now that he’s the only dog. He’s getting all my attention, all the table scraps; most evenings, I scratch behind his ears nonstop while I watch an hour of “The Waltons.”
But even all the perks are not enough. It’s been too long without his peeps. Patrick believes that when dogs watch us go out the door, they think we’re never coming back. Maybe he’s right: When I go out to get the mail, Howard waits for me in his usual spot – atop the sofa, looking out the front window.
He’s spending a lot of time in that spot these days. I know he’s waiting for his buddies to come home.
“Five more days,” I told him this morning. Then I went to the kitchen to turn on the frying pan. Bacon is good, but it’s a poor substitute for buddies.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.