This Side of the Pond

They say that a pet will always end up resembling its owner and vice versa, but I have reason to hope this is just a myth. If it’s not, there’s no hope for me at all and I might as well just give up and ask someone else to take charge of my decision-making.

While we have three furry friends running around our tiny apartment (literally, in the case of the cat, but only at 3 a.m. and I’d be more inclined to call it “stomping”), I speak in particular of our youngest. Midget, our Oglala Pet Project rescue, has now been my shadow and cuddle companion for several years and a lot has changed in that time, but she is and will always be a bear of very little brain.

This is a dog of contradictions: she’s a certain way, until she’s not. For instance, she’s as laid back and relaxed a pup as you’ll ever meet until she hears a quiet noise in the far distance, at which point she will yell at the top of her lungs.

She doesn’t really mind where she sits or sleeps, but it’s never a good idea to move her. Instinct will always kick in and she will snarl as she transforms into a bug-eyed gremlin. This only lasts for a moment. She will then realize what she has done and be very, very sorry for causing a fuss.

Midget is also a relatively brave dog who doesn’t shy away from testing out new things or places – except when she does. The list of things our dog is afraid of makes little sense to the casual observer.

It includes, but is absolutely not limited to: plastic bags; the sound a soda bottle makes when you open it slightly and a small amount of fizz escapes; feather dusters; and paper plates (not while they’re doing anything or making a noise, just in general).

We have attempted to apply logic and figure out what could have triggered such distaste for a circle of cardboard, but to no avail. She simply is, and will always be, my favorite funny little animal.

There are only two things in life that Midget is adamant about: dinner and belly rubs. She will go to extraordinary lengths to position herself precisely above your hand so that you have no excuse not to pet her. If you fail to notice her demands or your attention is already occupied, she will attempt to drag your hand to the correct location using her paw.

When it comes to dinner time, those gremlin eyes almost pop out of her head and she has no control over her barking. Every day, without fail, she will tear in circles and shout at you throughout what has come to seem like a very long walk from the food bag to her bowl.

She can’t help it, even if you ask her to stop. We have spent several months attempting to train her out of it by standing still if she makes a noise and only moving again once she stops, but it doesn’t work – the yapping starts again the second you take a step.

She can’t even sit and wait properly while she’s so overcome with emotion; she will butt-scoot across the floor towards her bowl as though being pushed. On the other hand, I’ve never seen any animal or person so excited about anything, so it’s tough to be annoyed with her.

Paw dragging and dinner barking are the only times our dog will articulate her thoughts. She doesn’t ask to be let outside, she doesn’t comment if you accidentally sit on her tail, she doesn’t beg for treats – most of the time, she’ll quietly accept her lot in life, whatever that might currently be.

All of these traits combine to make the unique and loveable animal we adore. An animal who got herself in a pickle over the weekend.

On Sunday afternoon, I was attempting to work at my computer but the bright sunshine was reflecting off my monitor and making it difficult to see, even with the blinds closed. The husband came up with the clever idea of pushing our roll-out bed in front of the sliding doors to block the light.

The bed was positioned about a foot from the door, pushed against the wall with nothing behind it except a mat and Midget’s bowl. It couldn’t go back any further as it was nudged up to the cat box.

As evening rolled round, it was time for the usual dinner routine of making the long trek across the living room while the dog barked herself hoarse. The husband emptied the scoop into her bowl and reached down to move it to where she could access it, but the dog was not prepared to wait around.

She vaulted the cat box and screeched to an immediate halt because there wasn’t any further to go. She landed with her face already in the bowl and we rolled our eyes, chuckled and left her to it.

An hour later, my husband said, “I think we’re missing an animal”. The other dog was on his lap and the cat was stalking a piece of fluff she believed to be an insect, but Midget was nowhere to be seen.

We looked around, but couldn’t see her. She wasn’t on any of the chairs, or in her dog bed, and she hadn’t slunk off to the bedroom early to take up her nightly sleeping position. We hadn’t left any doors open and even checks of the shower stall and behind the bed turned up no wagging tail.

It was then my eyes fell upon the roll-out bed and the furry face peeking out from underneath it. Head on paws, eyes wide, Midget was laying in the square foot of space behind the bed, next to her bowl, quietly waiting for someone to let her out.

She hadn’t made a noise or even tried to exit the same way she’d arrived. I also couldn’t help but note there was plenty of space underneath the roll-out for an enterprising pup to crawl to freedom – in fact, she’d managed to get far enough under that her nose was already in the clear.

I’m of two minds when it comes to what should be made of my dog’s self-inflicted prison sentence. On the one hand, I feel it’s an excellent example of the importance of making your needs clear, because otherwise nobody will know to fulfill them.

But on the other hand, as guilty as we felt for not noticing sooner, Midget was none the worse for wear and rejoined the family with her tail wagging wildly. There’s a lesson here for all of us, I feel, in looking on the bright side of life and believing that, no matter how bad things appear, they will always turn out fine in the end.