There, But for the Grace of Dog, Go I
By: Craig Allen Heath
Tags: Humor, Dogs, Non Fiction, Literally Literary, Love

This IS my happy face! — Photo by the author

Over first cups of coffee in the kitchen I would like to hug and kiss my wife good morning, but I can’t. There is a dog in the way. A big dog.

A very big dog.

Coco is a 110 pound female German Shepherd who has decided that mama and daddy must not do the kissy-face-huggy-bear thing, at least not without the Coco in between. Standing table height at the shoulder and weighing more than my wife, she can easily get her way. Whining and vocalizing, she circles us like a black-and-tan shark, pushing her long snout between legs and against rumps as we hold tightly together, desperately kissing as if it will be our last goodbye. Then she will breach our citadel, knock us each back with great swings of her massive head and shoulder her way in.

She then sits between us and looks up with those liquid brown eyes and dog-smile as we give up and pet her, she panting in satisfaction at being tightly bonded with her pack.

The vet warned us when we first brought her to puppy training : “Lots of dogs are jealous and GSD’s are the worst. If you have another dog or a cat and pet it and not Coco, she will not like it. If you hug each other she will try to get in on it, forcefully if she must. If anybody gets petted, she will demand to get petted too. Put a stop to that behavior immediately!”

That was three years ago. We made the standard mistake — it was cute when she was little (which lasted all of five minutes). Now she could box Flyweight in the WBA and kissing has become a furtive thing we sneak in when we can, like teenagers with disapproving parents.

I’d also like to walk from one room to another without an escort. As I sit writing this, she is curled up just outside my office door. When I next rise to refill my coffee, she will jump to her feet like a soldier caught napping, wait for me to reach the hallway, then walk with me through the narrow passage, leaning against my leg. I have to tread carefully to avoid stepping on her toes, but she doesn’t bother trying to avoid mine.

Once in the kitchen she will lay down on her bedroll under the table while I pour and doctor my coffee, her eyes and ears on my every move like high-intensity radar. When I turn back toward my room I find her teleported to my side, ready to step on my toes a few more times between the kitchen and my office door.

Every once in awhile I reflect that we should have named her “Velcro”.

When she isn’t a crossing guard she’s an obstacle course. I will get up from my desk to take care of necessaries and find her sprawled out, half in my door and half in the hall. Her massive chest and flank forms an impassable mountain range of fur, and her four long legs are stretched out into a pattern I must step through carefully, like a movie jewel thief through a laser trip grid. I think she knows when I need to hurry (too much coffee and too long trying to finish that paragraph) and purposely sets herself the task of testing my patience along with my agility.

I place one foot carefully next to her left-rear leg, scanning for any sign of movement; sometimes she will jump up and sometimes she wont. It’s all part of the test. She side-eyes me, showing white like a spooked horse, her ears cocked and twitching. I place my other foot near her rib cage. My bladder begins yelling. No movement. One more step over her head and I’ll be free.

I make it without incident, this time. As I Texas-Two-Step down the hall, I swear I can hear her chuckling.

Again, I am entirely at fault. If I am going to have a house dog the size of a newborn foal, I need to do the training, place the limits and enforce them. I need to either train her to lay only in designated spots that are hers, or to get up and move out of my way. I need to be able to order her to not herd me in the house. We need to teach her manners enough to sit and wait for her turn at loving, and let us have our time of petting and kissing.

Yeah, right. Have you seen how cute she is?