Maybe it's separation anxiety. Maybe it's because she's still a puppy. Maybe there is a telepathic bond between human and dog that we don't know about. But Darra has a psychological need to know where we are - both of us - at all times.
If John's reading on the couch with Darra, and I'm upstairs, she looks around for me when she hears me talking. In the morning, when Darra and I get up to eat breakfast and John is in the bedroom, asleep with the door closed, she finishes breakfast then takes up her post in her bed, facing the bedroom door. For an hour. Until John emerges, ready for work.
One surefire way to make her obey "Come" if she decides she doesn't feel like it: leave the room and wait. Eventually, she can't stand it - Where did they go? And around the corner she comes.
I didn't realize until today that I act the same way.
I'm putting on my makeup this morning and finally notice Darra is no longer in my line of sight, contentedly chewing on her bone. For all my talk about her ringing the bell when she needs to go out, habits die hard. I drop the mascara and rush off to see where she went. She's lying on the beach towel that we used to wipe the rain off her from last night's backyard outing.
That's when it hit me: I'm her. I do what she does, constantly checking to see where she is.
I am my dog's dog.
1 comment:
Reggie's going to be ten-years old Saturday and we still check to see what the other is doing...not as often as we used to, but still we keep tabs on each other.
Four friends all have new dogs and I have the senior citizen!
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