If you intend to speak to me today . . . or in the near future, do you suppose you could direct your conversation to my right ear?
You see, I have this cute little puppy named Trixie. While she makes me laugh almost every day she brought anger into my life yesterday . . . and a bit of sorrow.
I had gotten up from my Big Time Executive Chair in my Palatial Office and was about to walk down the ornate hall of the Madison Mansion to the kitchen to get a cup of tea, or something to nibble on, when Ms Fancy Pants with the New Hyundai said, “you’d better come here.”
I knew from that phrase that something was amiss. Not sure what it was, I meekly walked to the bedroom and evelyn pointed to our bed.
“What?” sez me.
“Look,” sez her. And she brushed the bed comforter.
Then I saw it.
The hearing aid for my left ear was in about five or six pieces.
Someone, or something, had ripped my $2200 hearing aid into pieces. I brushed all the pieces into my hand, wondering if the Veteran’s Administration, who supplies them, could possibly piece this mess all back together again. Highly doubtful. An extremely tiny circuit board encased in some type of metal, a battery, a teeny-tiny electrical wire, and shattered pieces of plastic that had been crushed by curious puppy teeth that obviously enjoyed the crunchiness and the screeching noise made by an un-tuned (and abused) hearing aid.
I pointed at the comforter, glared at Trixie, and said “NO! Bad girl! Bad girl!”
She had no idea what I was talking about. But she still quickly gave that puppy dog look with her eyes that said, “I’m sorry. What did I do?”
You can’t punish a dog long after whatever she did wrong has passed. She can’t respond if she doesn’t know what she did wrong. Somehow, she had jumped up on the bed, gone exploring, noticed some fascinating items on my bedside table and decided to chew on one of them. I knew some time had passed since she chewed up my hearing aid . . . maybe 15 minutes, a half hour. So she’d have no idea what I was trying to discipline her for.
Still, I managed to keep my old Mr. Grumpy Face look for the better part of the day. She knew I was angry with her, but didn’t know why.
She’d frequently give me that puppy dog look with her eyes that just says . . .”what did I do wrong? I want you to love me.” Danged dogs! They can say more with their eyes than any eloquent orator or writer could ever possibly say or write.
She likes to jump up on the bed whenever I’m taking a nap and particularly loves it if I wake up. To her, that means play time. Yesterday morning, before the hearing aid incident, she did that and I covered my head with the blanket . . . and she went crazy trying to find me. Scratching at the blanket, bouncing all over my head, trying to nip my nose . . . and she got me laughing at her antics. That just encouraged her more.
Later, in the afternoon, AFTER the hearing aid incident, I laid down for a nap. She came in, I covered my head with the blanket again, and she tried to play.
“GO AWAY! Leave daddy alone!” I thundered.
And she did.
Again, she knew she had done something wrong, but didn’t know what it was.
She came back, curled up next to me and took a nap with daddy. She would constantly scootch herself closer and closer to me while we napped. She wanted to be as close to me as physically possible.
How are you gonna stay mad at a pup that wants to play, wants to be close to you, wants to love you and wants to be loved back?
Yep, I’ve forgiven her. I just can’t resist her. Her expressive puppy eyes, her puppy kisses, and her unquestioning love and affection, things that are often rather scarce in this world of ours.
Seems to me we can learn a lot from puppies.
Trixie can’t speak. Can’t say a word in English. Yet she communicates with me better than most human beings.
Next week we go buy another $2200 hearing aid.
I’ll keep them in a drawer from now on.