Dog Disney World

We’re lucky. We live in Dog Disney World. Just outside the door is a dreamland for dogs. There are endless amounts of critters to chase and smell, toys to ride on and run alongside, and a constantly changing landscape. The possibilities of what could be just outside the door or what critter has broken the perimeter keep me in constant motion—I can’t shut off my mind. Can you relate?

Dad carries this little square thing with him everywhere we go. He talks into it, and sometimes it talks back. His dew claws are always touching, sliding, and tapping on it. And it seems like every time he looks at it, his personality changes. Not always in a bad way, but more often than not, it doesn't make him smile.

I’ll go up to him when he’s sitting and staring endlessly into the black box and try to steal his attention. I’m timid with my approach. Dirt is not. Dirt will go as far as to grab the entire shower mat and violently shake it, only if there are no toilet paper rolls in the trash. He prefers toilet paper because it’s easy to tear up. We all have our quirks…  It does get his attention though, but not always the result we’re looking for—putting down the emotional controller and going outside with us to play.

“Emotional Controller” – that's a perfect way to describe it. It seems to evoke any emotional response it wants to at any time. He doesn’t realize how much control it has over him. But we do. We dogs are sensitive. We can tell the slightest shift in a human's behavior or mood. Even the slightest facial expression gives us enough information to solve an algebra problem. Yea. That’s right. I know algebra.  He's so much bigger than the little square. I can’t understand why he doesn’t destroy it. Or better yet, why doesn't he let us destroy it for him?

Recently, Dirt and I have made some progress with getting him out of his blank stares. I’d say it works half the time. I’ve even heard him say, “y’all are right. Let’s go do something.” Then he gets up, and we go outside. But it ain’t long before he gets sucked back.

My brother has lots of toys, and they’re scattered all over the yard. My Dad has lots of toys, too, and they’re also scattered all over the yard. The apple doesn’t fall far… For me, well, I guess I do, too, but you wouldn’t know it. I hide my toys in plain sight. I prefer sticks, pine cones, or, if I’m lucky, a well-earth-marinated femur bone from a deer carcass.

I don’t keep my distractions in view. They make me anxious. I don’t give the power of distraction to anything I can control. I'm not saying my toys are bad, but I’ve noticed if I can see one of my marinated deer femurs from my perch in the window, I’ll just stare at it all day and go through a roller coaster of emotions any time a bird or squirrel comes near it.

“Go lay down,” is the response I get half the time I bump him on the leg or come up to him while he’s staring at the little square. But what he doesn’t know is sometimes, I just want to tell him I love him.