Growing up, I desperately wanted a dog. As an only child in our home, I yearned for the attention and companionship a dog could provide. Mom didn’t share my desire. Unlike most sensible dog lovers, she wasn’t impressed with shedding hair, disemboweled sofas, half a slipper, and lawn fudge. “I would be perfectly willing to accept a girlfriend in place of a dog,” I told her.
“You’re too young to be thinking about girls,” she answered adamantly.
I knew I was too young to drive, but I had no idea there was an age limit on thinking about girls. “How old do I have to be for a permit?” I asked.
“Don’t worry,” she answered. “You’ll have plenty of time for girls when you’re 35 or 40.”
I would have to fight that battle later. Right now I had to focus on getting a dog. Trying to convince Mom that a dog was an absolute necessity would require some hand-wringing appeals, along with some possible blood-letting.
Before I could make my first emotional, hand-wringing appeal, Mom tried the appeasement trick. “I’ve decided it would be good for you to have a pet,” she proclaimed one morning.
My face lit up! “Wow, does that mean a dog?”
“Not at all,” she answered, “We’re getting two parakeets.”
My face darkened. “Are parakeets going to flush out quail?” I mumbled to myself. No, of course not! They’ll be informants!
I checked the calendar for the opening of hunting season on parakeets. There was none. I went back to the strategy room.
While I was devising a plan to have a dog miraculously appear at our front door, mom was keeping a watchful eye for any dogs that might lose their way and stray into our yard. Several dogs were arrested for encroachment.
Mom’s goal was to get canines added to the endangered species list; my goal was to own one before they became extinct.
If I really wanted a dog I knew I would have to go on the offensive. To achieve this goal would require cunning and perseverance, something that comes easily to most kids.
Since mom had a slight aversion to anything with four legs, I decided to try the modified approach. “Okay,” I said. “I’m willing to settle for a three-legged retriever.” I don’t care if he limps. He can chase decoys. Mom would hear none of it.
I proceeded to the guilt strategy. “But Mom, Ernie has his own dog.” I didn’t think it was necessary to add frivolous details like his dog’s dining habits: shoes, furniture, electrical cords…
“Does Ernie’s dog clean up after himself?” Mom asked.
“I don’t recollect ever seeing a self-cleaning dog,” I answered.
“Exactly,” Mom went on. “And who do you think would be cleaning up after your dog?”
“Obviously it would be you,” I answered.
“That’s a good reason not to have a dog,” Mom went on.
“Okay,” I pleaded, “I’ll train him to go in the neighbor’s yard. I promise.”
Mom shot me a look of displeasure that glanced off my forehead, leaving me momentarily dazed. Any more looks like that and I would have to hunker down behind some furniture. It was my good fortune that she turned and walked away.
I could see this wasn’t going to be easy. Mom’s clever wit and polished oral arguments would be hard to penetrate but, hopefully, my pouting, whimpering and whining would overcome sound reason.
As she continued presenting her logical reasons for not having a dog, I excused myself and high-tailed it for Ernie’s.
“Maybe you should ease your way in,” said Ernie. “Why don’t you start out with a rental dog?”
“Are you kidding?” I asked.
“No, you could rent a dog for special occasions, like when you just need a companion for the day, or to chase away meter readers, tax assessors, or other vermin.”
That wasn’t a bad idea, but I really didn’t want a rental. I wanted my own dog. I ran back home to continue my case.
Segment 3 coming soon...
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