The many faces of 'Chuck'

It all started when our son told us he was dog shopping.

"Don't get a dog. You're not ready for that much responsibility."

"Mom, I'm twenty-three years old, I write and work from home and besides, I really miss having a dog."

"Well then come visit."

"I think it's time I got my own dog."

I'm old enough to know there is no point in arguing over these types of things, as that only serves to reinforce another's resolve. I used a different tactic.

"Yes, of course. You can do whatever you want, but when you get tired of it? We're not taking it."

"Wow, Mom, I thought everybody liked puppies. When did you get so harsh?"

That last remark hurt, of course. What kind of fiend doesn't like puppies, kittens and cute little babies? Parents do learn, however, that although we want to help our kids avoid the mistakes we made, they are entitled to be just as stupid as we were.

I have also accepted there is something about five acres that seems to cancel out any pet refusal rights. And if parents' feelings get trampled in the rush to dump that knawing, piddling, howling, pooping, demanding, early-rising adolescent puppy on them? They shouldn't have had the kid in the first place.:)

Particularly if 'somebody' has neglected to institute a schedule for that poorly socialized creature and corrupted its natural bent towards pleasing its master via inadequate and inconsistent training. (I am actually talking about the dog, not our son, by the way.)

There are two classes of people who think dogs should be welcome anywhere. Young lone wolves and old lone women. My son fell into the first category and knew his dad would be an easy target as well. Of course I would be eager to have our son visit, so he could bring the puppy over, we'd dog sit while he ran around town and then my husband would fall into his evil trap.

He's a man who can't stand to see a neurotic dog (his wife is enough trouble) and he quickly realized this poor little creature was being badly raised. Okay, so the darn thing was really cute, but I knew better.

When there were three or even five of us on 'dog watch', there were just a few accidents. We were alert, of course, as that doggie went 'out' about every hour and fifteen minutes while we were awake. When she woke up at 6:00 a.m., in a household accustomed to an 8:00 or 8:30 wake-up call, I began to get grumpy. Some people really need their sleep.

But he took the dog home after five or six days and after he left, the two of us talked about how poorly he was raising her. It was just a matter of time before he brought her down again. This time she was even cuter, and as we were having a great big party here for 75 people, we had replaced a few hallway runners and bedspreads, etc. The dog wasn't adequately prepared for all that company, so we didn't blame her when her first 'packages' landed on the new hallway rugs. During the event we had to confine both dogs in our bedroom, so it was fine except for the days before and after.

We had taken up the rugs I liked and replaced them with new ones my husband liked (we all must compromise), so I was actually privately thrilled she might ruin them. It wasn't just my opinion, either. My 16-year-old granddaughter tried to talk me into taking them back to the store as soon as he brought them home. I couldn't really get mad at the dog, as she was sorry...  so sorry... when she made a mistake, which became her theme song.

My son left her here in June of last year as I didn't have the heart to see her go into a shelter. He said we didn't have to take her. He claimed lots of people wanted her and that he could find her another good home, but I know how young people are. The minute that dog had three strikes, knocked over some toddler, or ate half of a pair of expensive shoes, she'd be at the Humane Society.

People would adopt her, of course, but it would be like a badly behaved foster child, and after several attempts at placing her, she'd be returned to the shelter for the final time. They would euthanize her unless someone who worked there and already had five dogs and seven cats was enormously kind. I couldn't bear the thought, nor could I bear the idea that my son would suffer for his youthfulness.

So we kept his dog and my husband took her on as a challenge. We knew no one had ever abused her or hit her, but she had some really annoying habits like howling, not coming when called, bolting out the front door and then acting like it was a sanctioned game of 'you-can't-catch'me'. Of course, she piddled any time you corrected her, she attacked the other dog, she ate the other dog's food, she pulled garbage out of the trash and stole the grandkids toys. You also couldn't leave food on the dining room table as she would try to climb up the table cloth until the plate landed on the floor.
What were we do to? When she was sweet she was very, very sweet, but when she was bad she was horrid! At first I shut all the doors in the hallways, and as it was still summer and we had sunlight, that was palatable. Then it was winter, and the skylight in the center bathroom gives a lot of light, so I began to leave that door open.

This was the result. A denuding of the houseplant of Spanish moss, while she tossed it all over the bathroom floor and the hallway rugs.

When I realized that everyone was making excuses for her, and picking up after her so that I wouldn't find out, I gave up.

This is a picture of my granddaughter who knows the dog is not supposed to make a mess, so she is quietly picking the last toss-off and putting the moss back.

But she still looks so innocent most of the time, and our other dog, a smooth-haired fox terrier is happy to have a new friend. Here they are playing soccer in the yard, which is even more amusing to watch than it looks. The two of them have become great friends, although the terrier is now the dominant dog.

When the puggle jumps and squeals and runs around in circles whenever company arrives, the older dog grabs her by the back of the neck like mother dogs do, and does the smack down. Nobody gets hurt and as soon as treats are handed out, they both sit on the rug like little angels.

Here they are looking their most innocent and seemingly like good house dogs.

So why did we name her Chuck? Well, we tried to keep her original name, Orea, which means beautiful in Greek. Our granddaughter kept calling her Hooray-ah, so we gave up on that one. Then we called her Little G for a while, and Gigi, but we'd had a dog Bibi, so that got confusing. Knucklehead stuck on her for a couple of months but then my husband realized Chuck was the name the dog liked and for the first time she began to come when we called her.

We still don't know why.

We have been charmed by this creature, by the way, and although she developed a disease where her saliva glands close up and she requires rather expensive operations on her throat, mouth, and cheeks... she's ours and we're keeping her.

She's pretty well trained now unless you put on the kitchen fan, as that scares her and she piddles on the hardwood floors. We left her alone yesterday for a few hours in the late afternoon, and when a wild wind storm hit, she developed loose bowels on our bedroom carpet. The vacuum sends her hiding and she quivers with fear, so one person has to take her outside while the other person cleans.

She does bench herself under the coffee sofa table when she's been naughty, which you have got to admit is cute. When we see her there we know we need to check the rest of the house. There is a chewed up toy or trash can turned over or plant with paw marks in it. She can't help it as she has half pug and half beagle. She thinks she's a lap dog until there is a squirrel in the yard or a leaf drops.

I suppose if I really want to be honest, the dog hasn't changed much, but we are sure well-trained. Ooops. I gotta go. Chuck's in the living room with the Christmas tree and she's already eaten several of the ornaments!

Written by Elizabeth Madrigal

 © 2008 Elizabeth Madrigal