Flash the Wonder Pooch was at the groomer’s all day yesterday. He needed a little work. He’s going through his “blow out” stage, which means you can’t look at him without him shedding a pound of fur. Not kidding. I brushed him two days ago and there was enough hair in the bag to outfit two big puppies. He’s a mess.
My son came over, and the difference was amazing. No dog clawing at the window. No dog scratching at the door. No piercing bark.
We were engaged in a project that required the garage door to be opened. We could open the garage door. No Flash to stand at the door and bark ownership. No barking to answer the neighborhood dogs.
We both remarked on the silence.
I confessed, finally, that I missed my furry friend.
John confessed that it just wasn’t the same, not being barked at.
Flash is a dog. He isn’t allowed up on the furniture unless invited. He isn’t allowed on my bed. I leave a room or the house before he does, and enter before he does. He has to wait for my command before he can eat. He’s not allowed to pull on the leash and walks beside me, not in front of me.
Flash is a dog. Yet he’s a member of our family, four legs, fluffy tail, and all.