A Dog's Job

03/21/2004

A Dog’s Job

Ah so, sweet Kaitlyn Mae, it is time for me to forget politics and discuss forthwith one of the more pressing issues of our time. Which would be, specifically, a dog’s job.

“She needs a job,” Billy said to me after an especially exasperating day with our Belgian Malinois, Jo-Ann. A rambunctious dog she is, Kaitlyn, and someday you shall meet her. Oh she ‘s “met” you already in that there you were in your little buggy thing your Mom uses to carry you around in. Only I had to hold onto Jo-Ann with both hands and one foot to keep her from doing, well I don’t what.
Jo-Ann has no exposure to babies and at the time you were three months old. She’s big, though, 83 pounds of black-faced canine neurosis. And even if she decided that these little Kaitlyn thingies are nice and proceeds to lick you in glee, she might cause a 12 pound baby to die from drowning. Or she might decide that baby Kaitlyns are a menace to society and proceed to drag your sorry baby behind outside with another social menace, the squirrel-rodent.

Your relationship with Jo-Ann will come in a few years, I suspect, when you are say, all of three or four maybe, and able to stand your own with the big galoot.

Point being pay attention, Kaitlyn, as your time with the very strange Jo-Ann is coming.

“Who ever heard of a dog having a job?” I responded to my fine husband’s assertion, visions of pinstriped dog attorneys or hard-hatted canine construction workers flitting through my head.

“Well, she’s a shepherd. Shepherds herd sheep.”

Technically Billy is your step-grandfather Kaitlyn and I suppose someday you’ll meet him too. So we’ll just call him Billy for now because he’s part of this story. Anyway, Billy’s response that shepherd dogs herd sheep is just another example of how cloudy the man’s thinking is.

“So we should get some sheep?” I asked the obvious. We are roses wedged between two thorns here, Kaitlyn, with neighbors from hell who hate Jo-Ann, and now we should populate our yard with sheep?

“No we don’t get sheep though I like the idea. But if we can’t have sheep then Jo-Ann must get another job. She does herd the cats up all nice like but they don’t like it. Still, herding cats only takes about five minutes a day. She’s needs a job that gives her a workout. She needs to get up in the morning and get ready to do her job, she must do that job all day and then she should go to bed knowing she did her job. Until this happens she’s always going to be somewhat uncontrollable and a bit strange.”

The dog is as neurotic as any guilty Jew, Kaitlyn, and I must say I’m a bit overwhelmed. If either myself or Billy should raise our voice ever the slightest, Jo-Ann will ask to go to the garage. She then crawls in her dog house and will not come out for hours. We beg, plead, offer hot dogs … nothing. The dog’s psyche is wounded. Billy says I must watch my voice tone. Good Lord, Kaitlyn, I am the loudest, most vocal, opinionated person on earth! My voice tone is ALWAYS on high.

Now that I must maintain a modulated even tone of voice to prevent Jo-Ann from mental meltdown, I cannot speak the following words: John Kerry, Democrats, Liberals, Editors, certain brothers-in-law, and occasionally, Kaitlyn, I cannot even say your mother’s name. For these words almost always bring out a certain tone in my voice that is not even or modulated.

I can speak of the weather but only if rain is not forecasted.

We cannot upset the dog.

“I have a job for Jo-Ann,” I announced one evening.

“Great. We getting some sheep?”

The man doesn’t want to mow the lawn Kaitlyn because someone told him if we have sheep they keep the grass low.

“Jo-Ann’s new job will require 24 hours a day. Every second of every minute of every hour will be consumed with her new job. It might take her a while but once she gets into the hang of the job she will be the most perfect dog in the universe.”

Billy looked skeptical. “Okay, what’s Jo-Ann’s new job?”

I then performed an artful pirouette and emitted a loud “tada” as introduction to my announcement of the dog’s new job.

“Jo-Ann’s new job will require her full attention 24 hours a day. It will keep her occupied every second of every minute of every hour of every day. It might take her a while to adjust but when she gets the idea she will be the most perfect dog in the universe.”

An eyebrow shot up to a perfect arch over Billy’s forehead. The man did not know genius even as it was performing before him.

“Jo-Ann’s new job will be …,” I paused for drama.

“To Keep Me Happy.”
The sound of silence was so deafening that even Jo-Ann scurried under the safety of a desk in fear of the weight of non-sound.

“Ummm, I’m afraid that might be just a tad too esoteric for Jo-Ann.”

I looked up the word “esoteric” in the dictionary. It means to have a knowledge of little known facts.

“It’s simple really,” I explained to Mr. Skeptical who was then looking up how to purchase sheep on the Internet. “See my face?” I said, putting my face in front of his. “This is a smile.” I then pulled my mouth downward. “This is a frown. All Jo-Ann has to do is always insure that there is a smile on my face.”

It hasn’t been easy Kaitlyn but I think Jo-Ann is getting the message. She certainly has issues with the fact that certain things make me happy that do not bring the same emotion to her own fine self. The way I like her to behave, for instance, not barking at the neighbors in their own yard or acting the part of a crazed Rottweiler when the little dogs next door are running around their yard. I tell her often and I tell her loudly that her job is to make me happy. I then point to my face on which I’ve formed an exaggerated smile.

I say the dogs of the world who herd sheep at their master’s request are, in fact, making their master happy. Same with canines that point to prey, sniff out bombs or lead the blind. They are all making their master’s happy.

It is, I assert Kaitlyn, the one and only job of any canine.