Notes from a Good Boy

She was ranting again. This time it was about how evil time was with its capricious lengthening and shortening, occasionally disappearing or refusing to move, all in relation to how much of it she needed.

Sometimes, she spoke in a cartoonish mouse voice and said things like “I’m Ray and I don’t want to be in this relationship or participate in life in any way but I’m at the house ALL THE TIME just so you can’t have any peace.”

Or, “I’m Ray and I like to play the victim of my own privileged life where I have no real problems except that I want to do whatever I want without considering how it affects others and I think being asked to do things with others in mind is a form of restriction.”

She had a lot of these.

She loves us, and this is the source of a lot of her angst. The other human in the house with the smelly feet used to live with us, but has lived in an in-law suite for the last two years. He comes over periodically to let us out on days she has to work, but he does outright stupid and dangerous things, like running a gas snowblower in the garage so the house fills with fumes.

We were home for that and she wasn’t, so when she came home and smelled the fumes, it incited another fight. She would rather not talk to him at all, but he would inevitably do things that endangered us, and this she could not abide.

You could clearly see her marking an event and trying to communicate why it was dangerous to our health, and then there was a lot of cortisol smell in the air as the ranting increased and the exchanges (via text, mostly) inevitably became about what Ray was upset about.

He took every situation and tried to turn it to his advantage. He doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, his or other people’s, so he becomes like a baby trying to out cry another baby even though the second baby is only upset that the first baby is crying. He’s full of seething resentments and other insidious things that smell wrong.

We don’t really like him, most animals don’t, and most people sense something about him that puts them off, but they don’t trust their animal senses enough to understand.

He reeks of self loathing and the substances he ingests to get through each day.

We don’t understand why he’s still here, she says something about having been duped and now being stuck in a house that neither of them can afford on their own, but since she moved us all here—us and the big dogs (she calls them horses)—and ruined her credit getting things set up, so finding a comparable place she can afford alone isn’t possible right now.

We don’t have to smell him often, so that’s good. He started self-isolating instead of trying to deal with any issues (his own or the relationship). She did try to help him. I remember her absolutely ruining her scents (yes, scents) of wellbeing to try and help him. After a while, she stopped trying.

When I first met him, I bit him on the butt.

I could tell this was the right thing to do because of how he smelled, and because of the things I could tell about him.

In the moment, she acted appropriately concerned, but ever since then she has been heavy on the praise for me, always assuring me that I did the right thing, and that if she didn’t mind me having gross things in my mouth, I was welcome to do it again.

I’m a good boy. I take care of her.

I’ve never bitten anyone else or even shown an interest in doing so. I only bite bad people.

The bite backfired a little bit in that a trainer had to come out and work with me so that smelly guy wouldn’t be too scared to take me out for potty breaks on his own. The trainer was for him, really. I didn’t do anything wrong. Lady dog is only nice to him because she’s known him since she was a very tiny puppy. I trust her judgement on most things, but in this case, she was indoctrinated. Her instincts on this one are tainted. She did used to get scared when he initially started to show who he was, slamming things around and yelling in his weird, froggy voice.

Do you know, he’s lived with dogs for 10 years and he still isn’t dog-savvy enough to take us out without a leash and harness? I mean, how hard is it? The history between dogs and human beings goes back thousands of years. It’s no wonder the data increasingly points toward women having been the ones to domesticate our ancestors. Any vet will tell you that “mom” is the one to ask for information.

Our woman is very focused on our wellbeing. I was almost dead when she took me in. She made me big and strong. To thank her, I got *really* big and strong, and now I’m 88 pounds of muscle and no one is ever going to mess with her.

I once watched her save Lady dog from a momma deer.

Some dumb does had their babies inside the fence line this year and when the fawns got old enough to get up and start wandering, it became a problem. I barked to say there was a fawn and ran towards it a little, but I don’t really chase things, I just tell them what’s what, so I said my piece and went back to being great, but Lady dog kept going. Lady dog was chasing the fawn, our woman was screaming for her to stop and then I saw the fawn running with Lady dog hot on its heels with the biggest grin on her face, just running for the joy of running, but right behind Lady dog was momma deer, who had murder in her eyes, and our woman jumps out in front of momma deer with a big stick and says “Don’t you DARE.”

I saw it, then, the she-wolf that our ancestors had seen, the one who would protect us and provide. Across species, their eyes locked, and in that moment, they came to an agreement. Her baby would not hurt the deer’s baby, they just had to get everyone where they belonged.

The momma deer veered off, and our woman got Lady dog back to the house. I was already at the house because, as you may remember, I am a good boy.

From inside the house, I could still hear our woman chasing the fawn to try and herd it to the gate, which was now open.

The fawn ran out to join its momma and all was well. Lady dog had no regrets.

I’m big and strong, but I’m also kind of shy, and I don’t like a lot of people, but I liked our woman right away and I was never worried about her. I knew she would take care of me.

The only times I worried about her were those times when the guy who smells like fear cheese added to an already heavy mental load and she got overstimulated, or upset.

She worries about us… she worries about everything. I know it comes from a good place but sometimes I do have to show her that she is being unbalanced. I mean, I am *such* a good boy, how could anything in this world be enough to distract from her appreciation of that fact? I know I won’t be here for her whole life, but I have important work to do in the time I have.

I’m very good at balance. I’m basically like if Buddha snorted a lot and would give you a nip instead of a piece of advice.

Fear cheese needs to go. She knows this. There are a lot of human components that I don’t really understand, but I know when something smells wrong.

I do what I can to help by accepting many squishes and snuggles. This is an important job and only I can do it.

I left my bad situation before I died. I was barely strong enough to walk, but I did it, and I got to where I needed to be. Now, I am glorious. I am happy, and I know that even if she waits until the last possible minute, as long as she goes where she needs to be, she will be glorious, too.